


The Tale of Squire Kristopher and the Black Dragon

by fictionalcandie



Series: Dragon 'verse [1]
Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Community: kradamadness, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dream Sex, Glitter, M/M, Napping, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-13
Updated: 2011-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-20 07:59:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalcandie/pseuds/fictionalcandie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killing the dragon is not Kris’s first quest ever, but he thinks probably it’ll end up being his last. (He’s really hoping that at least the eating happens <em>after</em> the dying.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tale of Squire Kristopher and the Black Dragon

  


  


* * *

Finding the dragon's cave is as easy as Kris expected it to be.

Actually, it's a lot easier than following Allison was that time she ran off with the pirate guy, which Kris would find weird — everyone kept telling him how difficult it was to track a dragon back to its lair — but then stuff like this has always seemed pretty simple to Kris, and it's not his place to judge people just because they can't follow an obvious trail or track their way out of a gilded ballroom or anything. People are different, that's just the way things are, and his mama and papa raised him to respect that.

Which is good, or else maybe Kris would have felt bad about his very un-knightly aversion to hunting. And fighting. And, like, anything that involves killing anything with a face. (He tried to hunt venison for his liege-lord once. It didn't go very well. He'd come back without any venison, and also all of his apples were gone even though Kris didn't really eat apples. Thankfully nobody had mentioned how maybe he might possibly have succumbed to the sweet little doe eyes and given half his provisions to the deer to make up for being supposed to shoot it with an arrow and, like, kill it for food. That would have been embarrassing.)

Whatever, though, Kris is supposed to be finding this cave (done!) and… dealing… with this evil dragon (about to be… almost hopefully done) right now, not hunting game or fighting pirates.

Kris can deal with dragons. He can absolutely deal with dragons, no problem.

If he repeats that enough times, maybe he'll believe it.

Tightening his grip on the handle of his sword, Kris takes a deep breath and slips in the mouth of the cave.

—

"There," says King Simon smugly, dashing a hand through the scrying basin in which he'd been watching Squire Kristopher's progress, disturbing the surface and dismissing the spell. "That'll be _that_ taken care of. _Finally_."

"You don't think he'll survive?" asks Ryan tentatively. "Maybe? Just like… the last three times you sent him on suicidal quests?"

King Simon scowls at his steward. "Don't be absurd. You've met Squire Kristopher."

"Yes," agrees Ryan, rather mournfully, because, well, he _has_ met the squire. "I suppose he… Yes."

"Indeed." King Simon settles back more comfortably in his huge throne. He absently strokes an unadorned hand lovingly over one heavily-gilded and jewel-encrusted arm support. "There's no conceivable way that even the _adorably_ inept Squire Kristopher could possibly survive an encounter with an Elder."

"As you say, your majesty," says Ryan, bending his head diffidently.

Sitting in an alcove behind the tapestry at the back of the otherwise-empty throne room, the court jester stretches out his skinny legs in their vividly purple tights and tips his head back against the wall, smirking knowingly up at the ceiling. "Oh, kingy," he says, with a little giggle. "That's what _you_ think."

—

It's dark in the cave. Like, really ridiculously dark. Except for a faint glow, off down at the other end of the cave (which is massive, but clearly meant to be just an antechamber leading to the dragon's _main_ cave), like there's a light just around a corner.

Kris heads toward that.

After all, what else is he supposed to do, stand around in the pitch dark?

He gets within maybe fifty feet of that glow and the end of the chamber.

"Mm, what have we here?" a voice suddenly purrs from behind Kris.

Sword already halfway out of his sheath (hey, nobody could ever say there was anything wrong with his _reflexes_ , just his ability to use any of them against, like, anything alive), Kris whirls to face who-or-whatever's talking to him, as light flares from nowhere and the cave suddenly brightens.

"Oh," says the dragon — because it _is_ the dragon, a huge mass of gleaming black scales, and glittering, brilliant blue eyes above a silver snout with smoke starting to curl upwards in wisps from its nostrils — voice deepening further, wickedness lurking even in the single word. It makes a sound that might be a giggle. " _Oh_. Isn't this a _delightful_ surprise?"

"Uh." Kris clears his throat and raises his sword a little higher; he's pretty sure it wouldn't do him any good even if he could bring himself to use it on anything but a practice dummy (with its head already cut off, just to be sure), but it's the _thought_ that counts. Right? Or was that only for when paying tribute to the his liege-lord? "Dragon."

"A bit slow, perhaps," the dragon continues, apparently to itself. Its long, forked tongue flicks out, like it's… _tasting_ the air. The dragon makes a low noise, and a shudder runs through its scaly body. "Still, though…"

Again, Kris brandishes his sword. "You. Stay back! Uh. Please?"

The dragon snorts. "Oh, put that thing down, would you?" it says, impatiently, and lifting an arm, flicks a scarily long and sharp-looking talon at Kris.

Kris's sword sparkles for an instant, then dissolves in his hands. A cloud of silver glitter floats to the ground at Kris's feet, covering the tops of his simple brown leather boots.

"Oh," says Kris, staring.

The dragon smiles. It has a lot of teeth. All of which look very, very sharp. "Yes, that's much better," it says. "Now, whatever shall I do with _you_?"

That's it.

Kris is going to get eaten for dinner, he just knows it.

Kris gulps.

—

The dragon orders Kris deeper into the cave, and because Kris really doesn't want to end up a pile of Kris-colored glitter on the ground, Kris goes. The dragon follows him, moving soundlessly for all his bulk and his scales, the light in the first cave going out behind them as they leave it.

The first chamber opens into another, which opens into another, again and again, one after the other in a dizzying series that leads them ever deeper under the mountains, with always the only light being a faint glow that appears to be just around the next bend. Kris has figured out, by now, that it's some form of magic — or else a really dedicated servant or something, walking ahead of them at exactly their pace. Magic seems more likely.

Eventually, Kris rounds a bend — the final one, apparently, as there's actually light _there_ — that opens into the largest cavern that Kris has ever even _thought_ of. It's… huge. Enormous. _Gigantic_.

It's also filled with stuff.

Not gold, like Kris had expected (piles and piles of gold, rings and crowns and necklaces and plates and goblets and _gold_ ), but just… stuff. Oh, there's some gold, it looks like, but there are also stacks of books, little heaps of what appear to be crystal balls, feathers _everywhere_ , and, right there in front of Kris, draped over a wooden chest engraved with starbursts and vines, a grey leather surcoat studded with silver.

The dragon moves past Kris, climbing onto a ledge just to one side of the entrance and perching there as if it's quite the most comfortable thing ever. There is what appears to be an ornate sleigh bed centered several yards in front of the ledge, and the dragon somehow manages to convey, through the cocking of its head and a languid twitch of its long prehensile tail, that Kris is expected to sit upon it.

Kris does so gingerly, and discovers that under several layers of absurdly rich material there is apparently a huge feather mattress of respectable quality. Kris sinks several inches when he rests his full weight on it.

He squirms to get (more) comfortable. Then, feeling foolish, clears his throat.

"So, knight," asks the dragon, its eyes falling half closed, so Kris can only see slivers of that brilliant blue. "You've walked your delicious little bundle of chain-mail right into my home. Why?"

Kris doesn't really want to tell the dragon what he's really doing there. He has a feeling that wouldn't go over so well with it. (Kris remembers the deer, with their big soulful eyes _looking_ at him, _judging_ him, and they hadn't even understood what he'd been saying to them, much less _talked back_.) So he clears his throat and offers, "I was supposed to bring back your treasure?"

"Tedious," says the dragon. It sounds almost disappointed.

"Speaking of your treasure," says Kris, because apparently he can't help himself, "shouldn't more of it be, well, shiny? More like gold? Trunks of coins and jewels and… treasure?"

The dragon lets out an exasperated breath (which goes past Kris like a gust of warm wind, making his cheeks tingle and heat) and twitches a talon dismissively. "You humans. Always so charmingly _literal_ about things. Of _course_ my treasure isn't chests of gold or something _boring_ like that. It's things I _like_ ," explains the dragon, like Kris has said something particularly silly rather than just asked a potentially offensive question.

"Right," says Kris. "Uh. Of course. I… apologize."

For a few moments, there is silence. The dragon's tail swings in a slow, distracting arc.

Kris clears his throat again. "Is, um, this the part where you eat me?"

"Eat you?" As it was the first time, the dragon's laughter is like a clear, perfect scale of notes, pealing around the cavern and echoing off the walls. "Oh, I'm not going to eat you. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. Don't be silly."

Kris blinks several times in confusion because that, just… What?

"What?" he asks.

"No eating," the dragon says, closing its eyes. "Besides, you interrupted my nap."

"I'm sorry?" Kris offers, still thoroughly bewildered.

"Mm. Now you get to join me."

" _Join_ yo—" Kris starts to say.

" _Sleep_ ," hisses the dragon, the word heavy, and abruptly, Kris _does_ , falling backwards onto the mattress, unconscious before his head hits it.

—

While he sleeps, Kris dreams of hazy, indistinct warmth wrapping around him, a hand brushing through his hair, and the dragon's laugh ringing in his ears.

—

Kris wakes with his brain in a fog.

His armor is gone — Kris hopes it didn't get turned into glitter, because he _likes_ that armor, it was his father's, and besides that sleeping in glitter sounds uncomfortable — as is every other article of his clothing besides his leggings.

Also, the dragon's head is above him, huge blue eyes staring down at him in apparent fascination.

"Uh," says Kris, blinking. "Hi."

"Hello," the dragon says back.

Kris props himself on his elbows to look around. While he was asleep, the dragon has apparently curled its body around the bed, forelimbs resting on the side of the mattress Kris isn't occupying and head suspended over Kris. One of its wings, which Kris hadn't noticed before, is stretched out almost carelessly in the air over the whole bed, an expanse of turquoise and silver, blue and green, that blocks out the rest of the cavern and makes Kris feel as if he's in a much smaller chamber.

"You don't look like a knight," the dragon declares. It drops its head, bringing it closer, so that it practically has to cross it eyes to keep looking at Kris. "You don't smell like a knight, either." Its tongue snakes out, darting over Kris's cheek. "You don't even _taste_ like a knight."

"Well, I'm not a knight," says Kris, thinking, _Knights kill deer. And boars. And probably little baby rabbits. I'm definitely not a knight_.

The dragon tilts its head. "Why not?"

"It's a long story," says Kris. He's sort of waiting to get eaten, now that ‘nap-time' is apparently over.

"I like stories," replies the dragon.

Kris huffs. "I'm not telling you the tale of my life just so you won't be bored before you eat me, dragon."

"I already told you, I'm not going to eat you." The dragon sounds rather irritated. "Not traditionally speaking, at least."

"Right," says Kris, and doesn't believe him at all. "I'm still not going to tell you everything about myself. It's boring."

The dragon's tongue touches Kris's cheek again. "All of it?"

"Well… yeah."

"You're lying," the dragon argues. He sounds… cheerful about it. "You don't taste anything like _boring_."

No wonder people hunt dragons. They're much more annoying than deer.

Kris sighs.

—

"So, you're not a knight," says the dragon.

Kris shakes his head. "No. I'm… really not."

Over Kris's head, the dragon's wing furls, exposing the roof of the cavern far above Kris's head, then unfurls again. Kris likes it much better with the wing blocking everything.

"You want to be, though?" prompts the dragon.

"Not exactly," says Kris. "I'm supposed to be."

"Why?" The dragon sounds confused.

"Because my whole family are knights," says Kris. "My father's a knight, my uncles are knights, my cousins are knights, even my little brother is a knight. It's simply… what I'm supposed to do."

"Says who?"

"Everyone!"

With a roll of its eyes, the dragon snorts. The smoke from its nostrils blows around Kris's head for a second. It smells like cinnamon. (Like cinnamon buns, specifically, but that could be Kris's imagination because he's _hungry_. And he likes cinnamon buns.)

"Doing something just because everyone says you're supposed to is stupid," the dragon says firmly. It pulls away from the bed — leaving Kris, who can suddenly see the ceiling and the whole rest of the room again, feeling strangely bereft — and stretches.

Kris stares.

Dragons are supposed to be terrifying, awful creatures, impressive and deadly. Especially the old ones, the powerful ones, the _Elders_ , like this one.

This dragon is impressive all right, and it fills Kris with awe, but it's not terrifying, not really. "Terrifying" would not be among the top ten words Kris would pick to describe it. Probably not the top fifty, either.

Kris keeps getting hung up on words like "gorgeous" and "shiny" and "sleek" and other undoubtedly stupid (but accurate, Kris will insist) things to say about the dragon.

This is why Kris would make a bad knight, okay. He's supposed to be filled with revulsion and the urge to kill this foul beast and protect the land and his people, or whatever, but really he just wants to pet its snout and maybe stroke its wing. And have it come back and breathe more cinnamon-bun-air on Kris.

Kris's stomach growls.

The dragon blinks at him. "Hungry?"

"Starving," Kris says truthfully. He has no idea how long the dragon's little ‘nap' lasted, but he feels like he hasn't eaten in days.

"I'll bring you food." The dragon leans back in briefly, head up close to Kris's, its eyes crossing again. Its tongue touches Kris's nose this time. " _If_ you'll tell me how you managed to avoid getting knighted so far."

"You're… holding food captive until I tell you about my boring life?" Kris says, disbelieving.

The dragon bares its teeth. It's maybe supposed to be a smile. "I like stories," it says again.

Kris lets his arms go out from under him and flops back down on the mattress. "You better bring me really awesome food."

"I will," says the dragon, and it's stretching again, rearing up on its hind legs and arching its back in a way that makes all its scales flash in the cave's magical light. "Don't put your armor back on. And don't try to leave, I'd only catch you and bring you back and you wouldn't get dinner."

"My armor?" Kris says, sitting up abruptly, because he'd figured his armor for a pile of glitter somewhere; he's not wearing it, he didn't take it off, and the dragon's claws are certainly too big to manage the buckles. "Where's my armor?"

The dragon is already leaving the cave, its tail the last thing Kris sees, whipping around the corner in its wake.

Frowning, Kris looks around.

His armor — chain mail, braces, gauntlets, empty sheath, shield, all of it — is piled neatly off to the side against the wall, under the ledge the dragon was perched on. Kris has no idea how it got there and no memory of himself, or anyone else, taking it off.

"Magic?" he asks the dragon's hoard uncertainly.

Nothing answers him, not even the scary-looking spiked black surcoat Kris can see (buried in a pile of leather and lace) not far away from the bed.

Actually, the cave is very quiet, period.

It feels even bigger without the dragon in it. And colder.

Kris burrows under a few of the blankets and decides to wait for the dragon to come back. He's hungry, the dragon's going to bring him food, and he's reasonably sure he's not going to get eaten in the near future. Or roasted.

It's not like the dragon's chained him up or anything, anyway. Kris can totally escape later.

—

The dragon brings back fruit for Kris.

It's carefully carrying a basketful of berries and peaches and apples with its snout, the handle of the basket between its jaws. Smoke keeps curling around the basket, over all the fruit.

The dragon sets the basket on the bed next to Kris.

"Story time," it says, folding its forelimbs on the bed next to Kris again.

Kris carefully plucks a strawberry from the basket. "Aren't you eating?"

"Ate," says the dragon. "So tell me why you're not a knight yet. Shouldn't you have gone on your quest already? You're awfully old not to have."

"I've gone on quests," says Kris defensively. "Three of them, not counting this one."

"Yes, that's right, my treasure." The dragon makes a noise like this amuses it. "Terrible quest, retrieving a dragon's treasure. Liable to get you eaten."

"That's what everyone thinks, anyway," Kris mutters, voice dry. When this makes the dragon tilt its head at him, he smiles weakly and quickly bites into the strawberry.

It tastes like cinnamon.

"What were your other quests?" the dragon asks.

"You really want to know?"

The dragon nods eagerly.

Kris sighs. He might as well tell the dragon; it's not like it could hurt, and after all, he's getting cinnamon-flavored fruit out of it.

—

"My first quest," Kris says, while the dragon watches him pick strawberries and blueberries out of the basket, "really was boring."

"What was it?" asks the dragon.

It sounds like it doesn't believe Kris, so he feels just a little vindictive when he answers, "I was supposed to travel to one of the other kingdoms and retrieve something for King Simon's court."

"Which kingdom?" the dragon wants to know. "Retrieve what?"

"Train," says Kris, "the Kingdom of Train. I was supposed to be getting a lute from the Soul Sisters. They were very popular for a while, and King Simon has a keen appreciation of music."

The dragon's head tilts slightly. "The way to Train from here goes through the Swamp of Wayward Travelers."

Kris nods. "I know. I don't know who named it that; it's kind of ridiculous, don't you think? It's awfully foreboding just for a regular swamp with lots of big fireflies in it."

"The Swamp of Wayward Travelers is infested with will-o'-the-wisps," says the dragon. It's giving Kris a look like it can't believe what it's hearing.

"Was that what those were?" Kris shrugs. "I didn't try to get close to them. I've never liked fireflies."

"They weren't fireflies," the dragon insists.

"Okay," says Kris. He's not going to argue with a dragon over something silly like this. He doesn't want to get eaten before he finishes his lunch.

As if it can sense that it's being humored, the dragon snorts. "So you escaped the will-o'-the-wisps by _not liking fireflies_ , did you? How did you manage not to get lost all on your own? The Swamp is like a labyrinth. A labyrinth with marshy ground. And lots of puddles that are really lightning mud."

"Oh."

Kris hadn't particularly noticed any of that, at the time.

"Well," he says, after a moment, and shrugs, "I don't get lost."

"You don't get lost." The dragon covers its face with one wing. There's a loud whooshing noise, and a moist, hot breeze goes through the air past Kris.

Kris thinks maybe the dragon just blew fire at _itself_. He wonders if that's, like, the dragon version of pinching his arm, or something.

"What happened after the swamp and the _fireflies_?" asks the dragon.

"Well." Kris pauses, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "There was this freak weather while I was going through that pass that's just the other side of the swamp."

All the blueberries and strawberries are gone. Kris digs out a plum.

The dragon's wing has moved away from its face, so Kris can see its expression again. Not that he can really read it that well, but he can see it. "The Pass of Jupiter?"

Kris nods. "Yes, that one. Anyway, I got rained on, and all my stuff was soaked, and Zorro — that's my horse — was sneezing, so I stopped at the first inn I found, and—"

"Wait," the dragon interrupts, sounding actually a little incredulous. "You mean to say that there was a freak rain shower while you were going through the Pass of Jupiter? That you got _soaked_ by the Drops of Jupiter when you were just _passing through_?"

"Um." Kris has never heard of Drops of Jupiter, so he has no idea if he should find the fact that he apparently got hit with them odd. "I guess. Uh, why?"

"The Drops are a blessing, usually bestowed rarely, and sparingly, and only upon the very worthy." The dragon hums thoughtfully. "Either the fairies there are losing their touch, or I was right and you were wrong, and you are _very_ interesting and not boring at all."

Kris blinks. "… fairies?"

The dragon waves a claw. "Not entertaining at the moment. Please continue."

"Uh, right." Kris takes another bite of plum, chewing and swallowing before clearing his throat and saying, "So, I stopped at an inn, like I said, and they took all my stuff to dry it off. It was really nice of them, actually — they even took my clothes and gave me this robe to wear while I waited. Most comfortable thing I've ever worn. Very loose."

"What happened while you were in the inn wearing this loose robe?"

"Then I ran into Matthew," says Kris promptly. "Or more like he ran into _me_ — I almost fell down a flight of stairs, but he managed to catch me by my hips and stop me."

"And who," says the dragon, "is Matthew?"

"He's a prince from— well. I don't actually remember what his kingdom was called. But he was on a quest to duel every minstrel he could find." Kris pulls a face at the dragon to show what he thinks of that. "I remember because I thought it was very odd."

"Indeed," is the dragon's dry response. "How does the minstrel-dueling Prince Matthew fit into everything?"

"Well, he wanted to come with me," says Kris. He gestures with what's left of his plum. "On my quest, I mean."

"Imagine that."

That sounded… sarcastic. Kris eyes the dragon.

It doesn't seem to notice. "Did you let him?" it asks.

"Of course not." Kris frowns indignantly. "It was _my_ quest. And I like being alone. Besides, he thought I was a maiden or something. I thought that was pretty rude, even if he did offer to let me share his room while the innkeeper finished drying my things."

"I bet he didn't like that," says the dragon.

"I guess not, since he followed me."

Finished with the plum, Kris looks around for a place to put the pit; not finding one, he sets it carefully to one side in the bottom of the basket.

"He followed you?"

"Yeah," says Kris. "But I didn't notice until after I arrived at the castle where I was supposed to get the lute."

The dragon hums. "And did you? Get the lute, I mean."

Kris bites his lip; this is the part where the story gets kind of embarrassing. "No," he admits.

"Why not?"

"The Prince, Pat Monahan of Train, said I had to stay and sing a duet with him before he'd give me anything." Kris rubs the back of his neck. "I didn't really mind that, I like to sing and Prince Pat had a pretty good voice, but coming up with a song took a while because Prince Pat kept getting distracted. And he was very… touchy. You know, I think he was lonely."

"I feel I should be surprised by your conclusion," says the dragon, in a murmur, "and yet I am really, truly not."

"What's that supposed to mean?" demands Kris, feeling defensive.

"Nothing important. Please continue."

"Right." Kris gives it a suspicious look for another moment before he continues. "So, that was taking a while, and then Prince Matthew showed up, which was how I found out he was following me, because Prince Pat wasn't expecting him. Prince Pat got very angry that Prince Matthew arrived without an invitation or anything. They had a fight, and Prince Matthew was going to leave — but I guess he didn't want to go alone, so he tried to get me to go with him, and I guess Prince Pat didn't like some foreign prince stealing his guests, and they just got madder."

"This is fascinating," remarks the dragon. "Then what?"

"Then Prince Pat told Prince Matthew about how we were going to sing a duet, and for some reason that made Matthew challenge him to a duel." Kris rubs the back of his neck again. "Maybe Prince Matthew thought that since Prince Pat sang, he was close enough to a minstrel? But, then, I don't know why he wouldn't have challenged _me_ to—"

"I believe," says the dragon, "that I have a fairly good idea why Prince Matthew didn't challenge you to a duel, and it has nothing to do with singing."

"You mean… because I'm just a squire?" hazards Kris.

The dragon stares at him, its mouth partially open.

"What?" Kris asks, squirming uncomfortably. "Not it?"

"So," says the dragon, very deliberately, "how did you get out of that mess?"

"Oh, Prince Pat's courtiers managed to convince him that a fight would be bad for Train, so he and Matthew agreed to both pack up their attendants and take me back to my own kingdom so they could talk to my liege-lord."

"That must have been fun."

"Yeah. But that was when I first actually met King Simon," says Kris. "He had to smooth things with the princes over."

The dragon stares at him for a few minutes more, before it blinks and shakes its head. "And how," it asks slowly, "is that _boring_?"

"I…" Kris shrugs. "I didn't succeed. And nothing really special happened and I didn't even fight anything. It's boring."

For a moment, Kris thinks the dragon isn't going to respond. Then it throws its head back and starts laughing, that magical, musical laugh. Kris watches, fascinated.

"Well, Squire Kristopher," it says a little later, amusement still rich in its voice, "I, for one, am definitely not _bored_."

"Oh," says Kris.

He has a feeling that means that his plans for waiting until the dragon loses interest in Kris, then sneaking off and heading back down the mountain to where he left Zorro, are not going to work after all.

—

Kris tries it, anyway, putting it into action as soon as the dragon's attention gets absorbed in something on the other side of its hoard.

The first part of the plan works well enough. Kris doesn't run into any problems getting out of the cavern with the hoard, and the string of caves back to the cave mouth is really easy to navigate. In fact, the worst part of it is that it's kind of cold in these caves — the cavern with the hoard had been pretty warm, Kris supposes because that's the chamber where the dragon spends the most time; the dragon is _really_ warm — and Kris hadn't wanted to risk attracting attention by trying to collect any of his armor or clothing before he snuck out.

He's kind of sad about leaving behind his father's old armor, and it means he's walking around in just his leggings, but he can always get more clothes. It's not like clothes are hard to come by — just look at the dragon's hoard! It has tons of human clothes, and it's a _dragon_ , so it's not like it could actually _wear_ them, or anything. (Kris isn't actually sure _why_ the dragon has so many human clothes. Maybe it steals the clothes of anyone it eats? Anyone who wanders into its cave?)

Kris is actually out of the cave and has gone several yards down the mountain before he realizes that his plan actually has _not_ worked.

The dragon is right behind him. It has a curious look on its face.

Kris stops and gapes at it.

"Hello," says the dragon. It sounds kind of… amused. Yes. Definitely amused. "Are you done, or do you enjoy climbing down rocky paths with bare feet?"

Kris really doesn't.

"Crap." He sighs. "Okay, okay, I'm going back."

"Thank you," says the dragon. "I had hoped to finish sorting my boot collection before it's time for my second nap."

"Sorry," mutters Kris.

Maybe he can escape during nap-time.

—

Kris can't escape during nap-time. He gets much farther, but still, when he rounds a bend halfway down the mountain, the dragon is sitting in the middle of the path, looking bored, its head tilted to one side.

"Are you finished?" it asks lazily, like it has all the time in the world.

Kris makes a frustrated noise.

This time, the dragon picks Kris up in its big, clawed hands— paws? hands? things— and flies him back up to the mouth of its cave.

—

It isn't that being in the dragon's cave is _boring_ , because it's really not. The dragon likes Kris to talk to it, even when it isn't making him tell embarrassing stories about his failures to get knighted, and it almost always talks back. And the cave is, obviously, full of _stuff_ — the dragon's hoard is extensive and more than just eclectic, and apparently the dragon has absolutely no objection to letting Kris mess with anything he wants to.

As long as Kris doesn't attempt to put on a tunic (taken from the dragon's hoard, of course; it really does have a remarkable amount of clothing), that is, or in any other way cover himself beyond his leggings.

Things keep _happening_ to whatever Kris tries to use to cover himself. First, a flurry of blackberries from the abandoned basket that held Kris's lunch strikes him, with enough force to splatter, staining the tunic and rendering it uncomfortably sticky. The dragon bares its teeth and mutters something vague about target practice, boredom, and experimenting with the efficacy of berries as projectiles.

Kris glares and pulls the borrowed tunic off over his head.

He tries wrapping — what he's pretty _sure_ is — a robe around himself.

The dragon actually _tears_ it, pretending to have snagged its claw in the back of the garment. Kris does not believe it when it says it didn't mean to. He shrugs out of the shredded robe and goes in search of another alternative.

This time, the dragon's tail knocks over a bucket of water that Kris hadn't even _noticed_ , spilling it all over Kris and soaking not only the tunic, but also his leggings.

Gritting his teeth, Kris pulls the tunic off.

He wads it up into a sloppy, sopping ball and lobs it at the dragon.

"Sorry," the dragon says again, sounding absolutely as insincere as it did the first time. It probably doesn't help that the dragon pretty much looks as if it's perpetually smirking when it bares its teeth.

"This is really unnecessary," says Kris, putting his hands on his wet hips. "If for some reason you don't want me to be properly dressed, you _could_ just say so. There's no need to be a jerk about it."

The dragon slowly blinks. "I see," it says.

Kris inhales deeply. He counts to ten slowly. Then he counts back down to zero, just to be safe. Picking a fight with a dragon is probably just as bad an idea when dripping wet and half naked as it is when perfectly dry and half naked.

" _Well_?"

"I don't want you properly dressed," says the dragon, and goes back to what it was doing — which seems to involve sticking sapphires and rubies on a ridiculously feathered hat by means which Kris suspects to be magical.

"And, what, that's it?" Kris resists the urge to stamp his foot like an angry milkmaid. "I'm just supposed to sit around here half naked and play with your treasure?"

"Well," says the dragon. "You could do it completely naked, if you'd rather."

Kris retreats to the other side of the cave to sulk in damp leggings.

—

Kris's dreams that night are unusually vivid and realistic.

They start with someone kissing him.

It's a good kiss, warm and deep and lazy, and Kris likes it so much that for a while he doesn't think about how he rarely dreams, and when he does it's not this clear and _never_ about kissing.

But then whoever he's dreaming about kissing makes a happy, _low_ noise into Kris's mouth, and a startlingly _big_ hand lands on Kris's bare chest.

Which is about when Kris realizes that he's completely naked.

Usually, when he's naked in his dreams it means he's about to appear at court and realize he's forgotten his trousers, rather than because he's kissing someone.

Kris fumbles a hand up and reluctantly pushes the excellent kisser back.

It's a man with black hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a very wide smile — which he flashes at Kris like Kris is somehow making him happy just by being there.

There, he deduces after a quick glance around, is the feather bed in the dragon's cave, which is another odd thing to be dreaming about, but considering that Kris was just kissing a _man_ who is apparently _naked_ while being naked himself, Kris isn't going to worry too much about the location. It's a very comfortable bed, anyway; Kris might just have dreams about it for the rest of his life. And _enjoy_ them.

"Uh," says Kris.

"Hello," says the man. He leans back in and kisses Kris's jaw, then his neck.

"Uh," repeats Kris, meaning to follow it with something brilliant like ‘why am I suddenly dreaming about attractive men?'

Before he can do anything of the sort, the black-haired man shifts so that he's actually lying on top of Kris, pressing them together the lengths of their bodies all the way to their knees. Kris hadn't noticed that his cock was hard, but he does now, because it's suddenly pressed against the man's hip — and the man's _even harder_ , bigger erection is pressed to Kris's stomach — and it feels _really impossibly fantastic_.

With a gasp, Kris briefly forgets what words are for.

The man chuckles in his ear.

"My name," the man whispers, "is Adam."

—

Kris isn't sure how he can tell, but it's very late by the time he wakes up the morning. Something about the quality of light in the cave, or the lingering postcoital lassitude (from his _dream_! geeze, of all things), or something else entirely, but he can just tell. And, though usually a rather early riser, he doesn't really mind that he's slept in this time.

Kris has never had athletic marathon sex in his dreams before, so he has no idea if you're _supposed_ to wake up after feeling satisfied and lazy — but Kris does.

It takes him a while to notice that the dragon isn't next to the bed, or anywhere else in the hoard cavern. When he does notice, it's with a niggling sense of disappointment and the hope that wherever the dragon is, it's getting him breakfast.

Kris _should_ be thinking about trying, again, to leave.

What Kris is _actually_ thinking about is the black-haired man's mouth around the head of Kris's erection. It's kind of a happy thought.

—

When the dragon does come back, Kris is still sprawled on the bed revisiting his favorite parts of his dream, and he hears it before he sees it, because it is humming.

Kris doesn't recognize the tune, but it sounds bouncy and cheerful, and Kris rather likes it. He wonders what it would sound like with words added, accompanied by a lute.

"That's pretty," he says before he thinks better of it, rolling onto his stomach and propping his chin on his folded arms. He'll get out of bed… soon. There's no rush with the dragon _right there_. "What is it?"

The dragon deposits the basket of fruit it's brought back for Kris next to the bed, then folds himself up beside it and looks at Kris expectantly. It's still humming, and its tail keeps moving, sweeping back and forth like the dragon has too much energy to contain it.

"What's what?" the dragon asks.

"The song you were humming." Kris tries to give it a ‘don't play stupid' kind of look, but he's never been very good at those; people tell him that he mostly just ends up looking wounded and confused, which he doesn't really understand, but whatever. "I've never heard it before."

"You wouldn't have," says the dragon, its tail stilling. "I made it up."

"Oh."

Kris considers that. He's being held hostage by a dragon who doesn't want him to wear clothes, but who brings him fruit, repeatedly refuses to eat him, and apparently has a talent for coming up with pleasing melodies.

There are worse situations he could find himself in.

(He's still going to get free, though. Eventually.)

"Well, I liked it," says Kris, wriggling closer to the edge of the mattress so that he can reach his breakfast without actually getting out of bed. "It was pretty."

The dragon blinks. If Kris didn't know better — which he absolutely doesn't, okay — he'd say it looks surprised, like it hadn't expected Kris to say anything of the kind.

"Thank you," it says quietly, and hot cinnamon-y dragon breath wafts over the basket and Kris's head.

Kris smiles at the dragon, and ignores the fact that he's suddenly blushing.

—

The morning's entertainment — as chosen by the dragon, of course — is apparently supposed to be Kris's second failed attempt at earning his knighthood.

"But what's _interesting_ about not being able to successfully hunt deer in a wolf-infested forest?" says Kris, frustrated. He knows he probably sounds like a minstrel who only knows one ballad, but honestly, it's the truth as far as he can see and he doesn't understand what about it so fascinates the dragon. "It's _boring_."

"You lived," says the dragon, and wants Kris to tell it every little detail anyway.

Kris sighs, and does, starting with King Simon requesting venison from a specific region, and none of the knights wanting to volunteer because, hello, huge packs of bloodthirsty carnivores with big teeth and big claws and did we mention they're _enormous_ , and the King insisting and somehow Kris ended up selected to go and got told if he succeeded he'd be knighted (finally).

Only Kris didn't succeed, because the deer were _looking_ at him and he couldn't bear to shoot them. Also, they were really pale, and kind of shiny, and Kris worried that they weren't eating enough (a malnourished pale-shiny deer would be _sad_ , okay, especially since they were already afflicted with those strange single horns), so he ended up leaving them all his apples.

"What about the wolves?" the dragon wants to know. It seems entranced, its head resting on its forelimbs. "There _were_ wolves, weren't there?"

Kris nods.

"How did you survive?"

"Well, I don't know. There were wolves, but I didn't actually see any," says Kris, shrugging, because he _hadn't_. "I only know they were there because I heard them, howling all the time. It was pretty scary. But there were these really friendly dogs—"

The dragon makes a noise that Kris can't identify. "Really friendly dogs," it says, sighing. "Of course there were really friendly dogs."

"They came up to my fire every night," Kris says firmly, because the dragon seems weird and he wants to keep his story on the right path and not get sidetracked. "They let me pet them. And they curled up around me while I slept. It was really nice, actually."

"I bet," says the dragon, deadpan.

"It was pretty sad when I had to leave the forest," Kris admits. He sighs. "They were nice dogs. Even if they were pretty big — that's probably why they didn't have owners. Because they were so big."

"You're unbelievable," the dragon tells him.

Kris blushes (again! he really needs to stop doing that, it's horribly un-knightly). He doesn't know what made the dragon say that, but its not the first to tell him something similar; usually it doesn't sound quite so much like a compliment. He bites his lip. "So, do I get chicken for lunch?"

The dragon stares at him for what feels like a very long time. Kris is pink all over — even the places under his leggings that he can't see — by the time the dragon blinks.

"Yes," says the dragon, gracefully rising to its feet, "I'll get you roast chicken for lunch."

—

Kris is still in the hoard cavern when the dragon returns, with chicken as promised. He could probably have tried to escape, and maybe even succeeded, but the dragon said he was going to bring Kris _chicken_ , okay, and besides, Kris is looking forward to nap-time. He thinks that maybe this time, if he waits longer before trying it, leaving during nap-time will work better.

It has absolutely nothing to do with getting to lie on that big comfy bed and remember the previous night's dream. Well, mostly nothing. Almost nothing. A little bit more than nothing, maybe.

Also, hey, _chicken_.

Kris likes chicken.

—

After Kris eats, he's unsurprised when the dragon announces that it's nap-time, just as it's done several times since Kris arrived.

Kris _is_ , however, surprised when the dragon, instead of letting Kris crawl onto the feather mattress and burrow himself comfortably in all the blankets, pulls Kris down and wraps itself around him. It's warm, and shockingly comfortable, but it's still basically _snuggling_ with a dragon and— Well, to be honest, Kris just plain hadn't been expecting it.

"Uh," he says. "Dragon?"

"I would _like_ ," the dragon says, its eyes already closed, "to actually get to _sleep_ this time, rather than having to chase you all over my mountain because apparently no-one ever taught you how to stay put."

Kris has no idea how he's supposed to respond to that.

That seems to please the dragon. It makes a satisfied-sounding humming noise, the effect of which on his body Kris refuses to acknowledge. "Besides, you should sleep, too."

Kris considers protesting, but licks his lips and says "Okay," instead.

Kris hadn't really known how he was going to justify his plan to loiter and fantasize about the man of his dreams (quite literally), but being physically restrained by the dragon sounds like an excellent excuse.

Like this, it would be impossible for him to get away from the dragon without it noticing, so there's not really any point in wasting his energy to try.

He dares anyone to argue with logic like _that_.

—

He dreams of the black-haired man again.

This time, Adam has his lips and his hands on Kris's skin before Kris is even properly aware that he's dreaming.

"Okay," he says dazedly, while Adam laves a tongue across Kris's nipple and grips Kris's hip to draw him towards Adam. "I. Uh."

There is a thumb pressing hard into the thin skin next to Kris's hip bone. It doesn't hurt; it's actually making Kris feel kinda dizzy.

Adam's mouth works its way up to Kris's neck. "Yes?"

"Nap-time is officially fantastic," says Kris.

"Nap-time is amazing." Adam smirks against Kris's skin. The hand he doesn't have on Kris's hip slips between them and closes around Kris's cock. Kris tips his head back on a gasp, and Adam gets his teeth on Kris's neck and bites down, just enough that Kris really feels it. "Nap-time's always been amazing."

Kris groans. "Of course you think that. Apparently everyone thinks that."

Adam laughs softly, and it sounds familiar, but before Kris can place it or think harder about it, Adam's letting go of Kris's cock and moving his hand down between Kris's legs to cup his balls, rub at his perineum, then back to stroke over Kris's hole. Kris moans and shifts his legs wider apart to make room.

Adam's got his mouth brushing Kris's ear, breath warm and damp and heavy, and he whispers, "I want you like this, slow and lazy. Can I have you like this, Kris?"

"Nngh," says Kris. The magic (or something) of dreams means that the fingers on Kris's hole are suddenly slick and Adam's already teasing a fingertip inside him. "I— Yeah, yes, of course."

With a quick swipe, Adam's tongue traces the shell of Kris's ear. "Mm, Kris," he breathes, his finger sliding in past the second knuckle as Kris opens for it like it's nothing, "even in a dream you taste _glorious_."

Then Adam's mouth is over Kris's, licking Kris's lips and easing Kris open all over so Adam can kiss him deep and filthy while he fucks his fingers steadily into Kris's ass and makes Kris see stars with how good it all feels, Adam's hand still tight on Kris's hip, holding him still.

Kris's hands are on Adam's shoulders, fingers digging into the skin as Kris tries to hold on. Adam's shoulder blades are against his palms, strong broad planes overlaid with muscle and even that feels wonderful to Kris as Adam's fingers brush his prostate over and over.

Adam's mouth slips sideways off of Kris's, rests sloppy and wet on Kris's cheek. "Glorious, you're glorious, Kris," he says, hoarse, "you're _amazing_ — come for me, I want you to come, can you do that for me, Kris?"

Kris can. With Adam's fingers inside him, and Adam's hand finally letting go of his hip to wrap around his hard cock and stroke him sure and firm, Kris could do anything Adam wanted except _not_ come — and he does as Adam says, shuddering and convulsing, coming in long hot pulses like it's being pulled from him, and he's got come on his belly and Adam's hand and everything's sticky and slick and Adam is kissing him again.

"Good, perfect, you're perfect," gasps Adam into Kris's mouth as his hands leave Kris's body. His sticky fingers brush Kris's hips as he reaches between them and gets his hand on his own erection.

Kris expects Adam to stroke himself off, but he doesn't, just slicks his cock and then he's pulling Kris's legs up and pushing into Kris, filling him in one long, slow slide. Kris trembles and digs his fingers harder into Adam's shoulders and Adam keeps _kissing_ him and it's _terrific_.

Nap-time is Kris's favorite thing _ever_.

—

The dragon is humming again when Kris wakes up from his nap. He keeps humming all the way through bringing back food and watching Kris eat dinner.

Kris doesn't mind.

After a little while, he finds himself humming along as he wanders through the dragon's hoard, looking for anything interesting. He needs something to _do_ , all this inactivity doesn't sit well with him. He's hoping he'll be able to find a lute, then if he can reacquaint his fingers with playing, maybe tomorrow he and the dragon can—

Kris stops short, staring into space. Then he stares down at his hands, which were already flexing in anticipation for the feel of strings and smooth wood, like he's never seen them before.

It's one thing to decide that he's not actually in any danger because the dragon isn't going to eat him.

It's another thing to start planning his days with the dragon like he expects them, like he's looking forward to them.

Kris goes back to the bed and sits numbly on the edge of it. He doesn't look over at the dragon.

Before long, the dragon comes back over as well, settling on the cave floor next to the bed, in front of Kris. One of its wings touches Kris's shoulder gently.

"What is it?" prompts the dragon.

"May I leave now?" Kris asks.

The dragon blinks at him, like it hadn't even considered the possibility that Kris might ever just _ask_. "No, of course not," it says. "I'm going to keep you."

Kris frowns. That sounds… awfully permanent.

"Well." He pauses. "May I wear my tunic for longer than five minutes, at least?"

"No," the dragon says immediately. "No, you absolutely may not."

"Well, what _am_ I allowed to do?" Kris demands, frustrated.

"Actually. Now that you mention it, I _would_ like my back rubbed." The dragon's wings curl in and it gives him a hopeful look. "Just between my wings."

Kris stares at it. "How am I supposed to _reach_?"

"Climb me," says the dragon.

It must be Kris's imagination, but he'd swear that was supposed to sound naughty.

Kris's imagination plays tricks on him like that, though, so he ignores it in favor of heaving a _huge_ sigh — no need to let the dragon think Kris is _enjoying_ the idea of touching the dragon, that it's making his fingers tingle with anticipation, even though it is — and stands up on the bed to crawl over the dragon's shoulder.

The dragon makes a happy noise.

It does _not_ make Kris smile.

(It _doesn't_ , okay, he's just smiling because he's… Well, because he wants to. Shut up.)

Kris settles astride the dragon just behind its wing joints. He leans forward to rub his hand, tentatively, over the warm black scales between the bright, colorful wings. Nothing horrible happens —

("Harder," says the dragon. Kris ignores what his imagination says about _that_ , too.)

— so Kris spreads out his hand and strokes firmly with his palm, up and down in a steady motion, like brushing out a horse's coat.

A rumbling noise comes from the dragon, and it starts to… shake minutely.

Kris pauses. "Should I stop?"

"Don't you _dare_ ," says the dragon.

Kris keeps rubbing.

It takes Kris a stupidly long time to realize that the noise and the vibration are the dragon's version of a cat's purr.

That definitely doesn't make Kris smile when he works it out, either.

—

The biggest problem, apparently, with rubbing the dragon's back for very long is that it leaves the dragon in a sort of lazy stupor.

Kris tries to talk to it, once he's crawled back down to his— the bed. This mostly results in the dragon humming at him.

"I'm _bored_ ," Kris finally resorts to complaining, poking the end of the dragon's snout.

"Tired," the dragon says in a low rumble, without opening its eyes. "Time to sleep. Close your eyes."

"I don't _want_ to sleep yet," says Kris, who isn't tired and has already slept more in the last two days than he's used to.

"Well, I do," says the dragon, and does.

Kris grumbles and spreads out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

It's almost an hour before he falls asleep too.

—

Adam is already on the bed when Kris's dream starts. He's propped against the pillows with his arms behind his head, legs bent up from the mattress and crossed, his right foot kicking idly. Like he's been _waiting_ for Kris.

"You are so _stubborn_ ," he says, and drags Kris down against his chest, bending his head to brush his lips over Kris's neck.

"What?" gasps Kris.

One of Adam's big hands has already stroked down Kris's back and spread out on Kris's ass. "Why didn't you go to sleep earlier?"

"I wasn't," says Kris, his own hand's finding their way to Adam's hip and Adam's hair, "uh, tired?"

"I can't walk into your dream if you're not dreaming," says Adam, kind of sternly.

"What, but—" Kris breaks off, gasping, and tries to focus while Adam's fingers are working their way inside his ass with no preamble whatsoever. It takes him a minute to find words again. "You're not saying you're _real_?"

"Of course I'm real." The man — _Adam_ , he says his name is, which Kris especially has to remember to call him since Adam says he's _real_ — slides his fingers out of Kris and grabs his hips to shift him, lining his cock up at Kris's hole.

Kris still doesn't get it. "Then what are you doing in my dream?" he asks.

Adam pauses. "I'd think that would be obvious," he says, and punctuates the words with a hard shove of his hips, driving him up into Kris.

Kris spends a minute or two making undignified noises before he regains enough of his mind to remember that he was asking very important questions. "But _how_ are you in my dream?"

"Dream-walking, of course," Adam says. His words are a low drawl in Kris's ear. "I have been every day, every time you sleep, since you showed up at the cave."

Kris feels a little dizzy. It might be surprise, or it might be the way Adam's cock is filling him up, stretching him out, going so incredibly _deep_ on every thrust and punching little gasps out of Kris like he can't get air into his lungs. Or it could be the way Adam's looking at him, like he's something wonderful and unexpected and _amazing_. (It's maybe the way Kris has caught himself looking at the dragon a couple of times.)

"You." Kris bites his lip as Adam grabs one of Kris's legs and hitches it higher around Adam's torso, so his cock feels like it goes _even deeper_ when he pulls Kris down. "Uh. Really?"

"Oh, yes. I must admit, it's been much more fun since that first time." Adam smiles widely, scrapes his teeth across the skin of Kris's shoulder. "Dreams during forced sleep are never very interesting, though."

Something in that statement is important, somehow, Kris is pretty sure. "Right," he says, meaning to take that he doesn't know where.

Adam licks the side of Kris's neck and gets a hand on Kris's cock. "Can we be done talking right now?" he asks.

"Okay," Kris agrees fervently.

He pulls Adam's head up so that he can kiss that freckled mouth while he comes.

—

"You _forced_ me," Kris says the next morning, picking at the fruit the dragon has, yet again, produced from _somewhere_ to be Kris's breakfast. "To sleep, I mean, that first day, for your nap."

The dragon lets out a questioning hum. It dances across Kris's nerves like he's being tickled; he squirms and pushes the plate of fruit away before he drops it.

"You made me sleep," Kris repeats. "You _controlled_ —"

"Ensorcelled you," says the dragon, without looking over, as if the distinction matters. Maybe it does, to a dragon. "Sleeping spell."

Kris rubs hard at the bridge of his nose. "Okay, you control— _ensorcelled_ me and _made_ me sleep. With you."

"Oh, that didn't take much effort," says the dragon. And laughs.

Kris isn't really aware that he's planning to do it before he does it, but a second later he's picked up one of the apples on his plate (seriously, he never ends up eating them, just uses them to do things like bribe deer, it would make him sad if he actually _liked_ them) and thrown it at the dragon.

The apple bounces off the side of the dragon's head, right behind one of those curved, pointy horns.

What? Kris has good aim.

Very slowly, the dragon's head swings around until those stupidly vibrant eyes can fix on him.

" _Yes_?" the dragon says, only a fraction as sharply as Kris had expected.

Kris meets the blue gaze with the best glare he can muster. "I don't like being _made_ to do things, dragon."

The dragon tilts its head. It hums again; Kris squirms, but doesn't look away.

"All right," says the dragon, after another moment. "I'll remember you said that, squire."

"Right." Kris licks his lip and nods, finally darting his eyes away now that he can pretend it doesn't look like he's backing down. "Well. Okay. Good."

The dragon's tongue flicks out into the air, twice, and the dragon's eyes narrow. "That wasn't why you brought it up."

"Uh. No." Kris swallows. "No, it wasn't."

"I thought not." The dragon's tail curves over Kris's shoulder and squeezes, gently. "So?"

"Why didn't you just do that — ensorcel me, or whatever — last night?"

The dragon bares all of its long, sharp fangs at Kris. "You don't like being made to do things."

Kris's mouth falls open.

"I hadn't said that yet!" he says loudly in protest.

The dragon's wings stretch and flutter, like a twitch, or shrug. "Well maybe I don't like you being made to do things, either."

Kris has absolutely no idea what to say to that, especially as he's not exactly a guest in the dragon's cave by his own choice.

So he grabs a peach and bites into it viciously, instead of saying anything.

It feels kind of like he's just lost an argument.

Peach juice drips down his chin, over his fingers and along his arm, and the dragon watches until the peach is nothing but pit and Kris has wiped all the juice off on his (now thoroughly soiled, so clearly he's going topless _again_ today) tunic. Kris peels off the tunic and tosses it toward the growing pile of Kris-sized dirty clothing next to the bed.

Smoke curls up from the dragon's nostrils, obscuring its heavily narrowed eyes.

It turns back to its book just as Kris starts to turn pink.

Kris feels like he's missed something.

—

Kris's dreams during nap-time (when he's once again wrapped up in dragon and prevented from even trying to escape) are about pushing Adam flat on the bed and crawling down that long body to get Adam's cock in his mouth and listening to Adam fall apart with one hand in Kris's hair and the other fisted in the sheets.

—

"I want another story," declares the dragon, watching Kris untangle a pile of the dragon's silver necklaces and pendant chains, several of which looked like things he'd seen Adam wear in his dreams. Not that he knows why Adam wears jewelry in the dreams, because he certainly never wears anything _else_. It's the same kind of mystery as why the dragon has clothes. And a big pile of tangled up necklaces. (The dragon had been trying to untangle them with its big claws; Kris had smacked it and told it to let him, his hands were smaller. The dragon had looked smug, but Kris was pretending not to have noticed that.)

"What kind of story?" asks Kris, glancing up at the dragon.

The dragon blows smoke at him, "An interesting one, of course."

"That rules out all of mine," says Kris defiantly.

The dragon's tongue touches Kris's cheek. "Liar," it says. "Didn't you say you went on three quests?"

"I did," Kris nods. "Not counting this one."

"You've only told me about two," the dragon says. It pokes Kris's leg with its tail. "I'd like to hear about the third."

"It's boring," Kris warns.

"Mm, maybe, but you said that about the other two, and _they_ weren't. I'll take my chances." It sounds kind of like the dragon is laughing at him, but it doesn't sound mean, so Kris lets it go. "Does this one involve princes and wolves?"

Kris shakes his head.

"Then what does it involve?" asks the dragon.

"Pirates," says Kris.

"Ooh."

"And a damsel in distress. Sort of," he adds.

The dragon pokes Kris's leg again, grinning. "And how did _you_ end up with a quest involving pirates and a distressed damsel?"

"I'm perfectly capable of handling both," Kris says stiffly, batting the dragon's tail away. "And she wasn't exactly _distressed_."

"Oh, I think you're capable of anything," the dragon reassures him.

Kris gives it a skeptical look. "Right. Anyway. The quest. There's this member of King Simon's court. Lady Allison is her name. I'm sorta friends with her."

"That's nice…"

"Or, I _was_ friends with her, before the pirates," Kris says, correcting himself thoughtfully. "She's been pretty mad at me lately."

"Why would she be mad at you?"

"She got… taken in by this pirate. I'm pretty sure it was some kind of spell or something, because she's got to have better taste than that. But she, well, she pretty much ran off with the guy, only he was kind of a jerk and a creep and they sent me to deal with him and bring her back and she, uh, didn't like that so much."

"Wait," says the dragon. "If you got her back, how come you weren't knighted?"

Kris rubs the back of his neck. "I didn't do it right."

"There's a wrong way to rescue a lady?" The dragon narrows its eyes. "What, did you kill her?"

"No!" exclaims Kris, with a scandalized frown. "Of course I didn't kill her! Nobody killed her. She's _fine_."

"So how did you do it wrong?" presses the dragon.

"I didn't deal with the pirate, Gokey," Kris admits. "I tracked him and Allison back to that seedy pirate town on the coast, waited until it was dark, and slipped in and snuck her out."

The dragon actually gapes at him. "You're telling me you snuck into Pirate Town — only one of the most dangerous, well fortified places _in the whole of the human world_ — past several hundred, maybe a thousand, habitually leery ruffian pirates who would be able to see through you in a _second_ , and you got some young lady out of there, with _none_ of them noticing, and you didn't get knighted for it?"

"I didn't deal with Gokey," repeats Kris. "I was supposed to kill him, or— or make sure he knew not to try anything like that again. I didn't. I just took Allison, and these bags of gold I found in the room with her, and this sword thing that looked really neat and Allison liked, and we… we left."

"… _you_ stole the Sword of Styx from Dread Pirate Gokey?"

"I liked it!" says Kris, crossing his arms defensively. "And he's a renegade and a reprobate and he certainly didn't deserve it, when he steals girls. Besides, I'm pretty sure I could use it better than him, anyway. As long as it's not against anything that's, like, alive."

The dragon's head swings around to the cave entrance. It looks alarmed. "… _that's_ not the sword I disintegrated, is it?" it demands.

"What? No, of course not." Kris blinks. "I left that at home with my mama so nothing happens to it."

"You mean you've got the Sword of Styx and you don't _use_ it?"

"Of course I don't," say Kris, because he feels that much should be obvious. Why would he carry around something that awesome and special to him when he tries not to ever even use his sword if at all possible? "How do you even know about it?"

"Kris, _everyone_ knows about the Sword of Styx and how it was stolen from beneath the Dread Pirate's nose," says the dragon, with what must _surely_ be exaggerated patience, because nothing has the amount of patience required to handle how ridiculous the dragon apparently feels it is that it has to explain this.

"Really?" Kris blinks. "Oh."

Slowly, the dragon shakes its head.

"You, Squire Kristopher, are _amazing_ ," it whispers, sounding almost reverent.

—

Kris doesn't sleep during the dragon's second nap, and the dragon doesn't drag him into its arms to make sure he doesn't run.

Kris should escape. He doesn't even try. Instead, he sits and finishes untangling the dragon's necklaces, humming to himself and thinking about Adam-the-dream-walking man. He probably really should be trying to escape, but he's tried that before and the dragon always brings him back before he gets far.

Besides, Kris doesn't really feel like escaping. He'll do that… sometime later.

Maybe.

—

When the dragon wakes up, the first thing it does is dump a bucket of water over Kris's head.

"Wha—?" Kris splutters, wiping water from his eyes and squirming at the water dripping down the back of his leggings. "Hey!"

"You were supposed to _sleep_ ," says the dragon, clearly grumpy despite just having slept for over an hour.

"I didn't want to!" says Kris. He tunnels his fingers through his hair, pushing the sodden strands off his forehead and hoping to get at least some of the water out of it. It's going to dry in a crazy mess, he knows it is. "You didn't say it was _mandatory_ , dragon."

"I felt that was implied," the dragon tells him, grumbling. It hooks a heavy linen towel (where does it even keep those? Kris has never seen them before) with its tail and tosses it at Kris. "From now on, when I sleep, you sleep."

"Right." Kris scrubs at his dripping, naked chest with the towel. "Whatever you say."

The dragon snorts, suggesting that it doesn't believe Kris is being sincere — which is fair, because he isn't — and blowing cinnamon-y air across Kris's still-damp skin, giving him goosebumps.

"So," says the dragon, "what _were_ you doing that was so much more important than napping?"

"I finished with your necklaces." Kris points to where he laid all the necklaces in the filigreed jewelry box where the dragon kept them. "And then I was just… singing."

"Singing."

"Yes," says Kris, raising his eyebrows at the dragon's pointed tone. "I do that sometimes."

"You've never sung for me," says the dragon.

For a second, Kris doesn't recognize the expression on the dragon's face. Then he gets it.

The dragon is pouting.

"Would you like me to?" he asks, trying to keep his amusement out of his voice. He probably doesn't succeed very well.

The dragon shrugs. "Not if you don't want to," it mutters.

Kris can't help smiling at the dragon.

"Of course I'd like to sing for you," says Kris, gently.

The dragon perks up immediately. "Really?"

Kris nods.

"Sing now, then," says the dragon.

"Are you— Seriously? Now?"

It's the dragon's turn to nod. "Sing, then I'll go get you food again."

Kris opens his mouth. He closes it again.

"All this constant eating," the dragon mutters, and shakes its head. "So much eating you do, human. The least you could do is sing a song or two when I ask you to."

Kris sighs, then clears his throat. "All right. But it would really sound better if I had my lute."

The dragon waits expectantly.

"I don't," Kris points out, impatiently. "My mama has it. I don't bring it on quests, okay."

"Is it a very valuable lute?" the dragon asks, cocking its head.

"No." Kris sighs regretfully. "It's just… ordinary. But it was the first thing I ever bought with my own gold."

The dragon gives him a thoughtful look. "You really like lutes, then?"

"Oh, very much! My dream is to have _several_ ," Kris says.

The dragon just… stares at him for a moment. It doesn't even blink.

"And— You know, I really wish I'd at least gotten a chance to play one of those Soul Sister lutes," he remarks, mournfully. "I didn't even get to touch one, though."

Finally, the dragon blinks. Then it narrows its eyes at him. "Oh, really?"

Kris nods enthusiastically. "Yes. They were very pretty. And they're supposed to sound fantastic," he adds.

The dragon hums.

Kris shivers, again, like the reaction is hardwired into him.

"You," says the dragon, abruptly, "don't move."

An instant later, it's turning and lunging across its hoard, obviously after something specific.

"… what are you even doing?" Kris calls after it, a few moments later, after he sees two surcoats, a bright blue cloak, half a wrought iron bed frame, and an uncountable number of feathers go flying on the other side of the cave.

"Just a moment!" the dragon calls back.

Kris sits back against the side of the bed and sighs, rubbing his temple with the heel of one hand.

Dragons. They're impossible.

A couple of minutes later, the dragon returns, carefully cradling something red and sparkly against its black chest.

"Find what you were looking for?" Kris asks dryly.

" _Exactly_ what I was looking for," says the dragon, and holds out the sparkling red object for Kris's perusal. "Do you think you can use this?"

It's a lute. Or, it might once have _been_ a lute.

Kris blinks. "What have you done to that poor lute?"

"I made it sparkle." The dragon gives the lute a proud look. "Doesn't it look gorgeous?"

"You put crystals all over it," says Kris, blinking again.

"Jewels," corrects the dragon. "Mostly rubies. And diamonds."

"Rubies and diamonds," Kris repeats, disbelieving. "Right. Dragon, that lute is _covered_ in them."

The dragon sort of… well, Kris doesn't really want to call it preening, but that's pretty apt. "I know."

Kris sighs. "Okay, okay. Hand it over, then."

The dragon does, beaming and looking proud of itself.

As Kris is accepting it, something on the back of the lute's neck catches his eye. It's a small but distinct marking, obviously put there deliberately. Like a craftsman's signature.

It's one he's heard about, but never actually expected to see.

Kris pauses, eyes fixed on the little carved symbol, barely visible through all the precious gems. "… Dragon, what _kind_ of lute is this?"

"Hm? Oh, it's a Gibson."

"A Gibson. A Gibson from _Les Paul_?" Kris asks flatly.

"Yes." The dragon waves its tail impatiently. "Why?"

"I don't think you understand," says Kris, holding the lute out where he can stare at it in awe, and trying not to hyperventilate. "Gibsons from Les Paul are _legendary_."

The dragon shrugs, as if to say that things like legendary instruments are boring and uninteresting and don't effect it at the moment. "Do you like it?" it asks.

Kris stares. "Like it? Of course I like it!"

"Oh, good," says the dragon, smiling toothily. "Then I think you should keep it. I can't play, anyway."

Kris tries to come up with something else to say that doesn't involve shrieking like a little girl.

He can't think of anything, though, so instead of embarrassing himself by trying to speak and ending up squeaking, he tucks the lute in tight to his body and strums the opening notes to the first song that comes into his head.

"I know this one," says the dragon, brightly, like it has no idea that it just gave Kris a lute worth more than most _people_ in the kingdom. "May I sing it with you?"

Even if Kris hadn't been dying to get the dragon to sing with him — which, to be honest, he has — the dragon did just give Kris a ridiculously valuable instrument, out of its _hoard_ , apparently for no better reason than Kris saying he liked it. There's no way Kris is going to turn the dragon down.

"Of course," agrees Kris, and launches into the first verse, about remembering when he lost his mind, before he blurts something grateful and ridiculous and fawning.

Kris sings the way he always does, competently, and pleasantly enough. When the dragon takes over for the second verse — being out of touch and knowing too much — Kris is not at all surprised to discover that its singing voice is exactly as good as he'd expected it to be. Maybe even better.

The dragon lets Kris take over again for the chorus, which is appropriate, because Kris has definitely been feeling a bit like he's going crazy, the last few days.

It should maybe worry him, but it doesn't.

Then it's the dragon's turn again, and as it sings the line ‘ _bless your soul, you think you're in control_?' it might have— Well, Kris thinks it smirks at him.

He's probably imagining it. There's no reason for the dragon to be doing that, right?

But Kris is really, really _not_ the one in control here.

He turns off his brain and just _sings_.

"There," says the dragon, when the song is over, its voice rich with satisfaction. "That was nice. And fun. Don't you think?"

"Yeah," agrees Kris quietly, staring up at the dragon's smiling eyes. "It was."

The dragon laughs.

Kris thinks he could listen to the dragon sing for the rest of… forever, without getting tired of its voice.

Kris is probably in deep trouble.

—

That night, Kris's dreams start with Adam yanking him off the big feather mattress, one hand wrapped around each of Kris's arms, and hauling him to his feet in front of Adam. Startled, and blinking like he just woke up even though he just _fell asleep_ , Kris looks up into Adam's face.

Adam looks pissy.

"You missed nap-time," he accuses. Then, as if to illustrate what comes of Kris missing nap-time, he yanks Kris in close and cants his hips at the same time, pressing his erection against Kris's belly.

Kris stifles a groan. "I was busy?" he says.

Adam narrows his eyes.

"I'll show you busy," he mutters, then his hands are sliding up Kris's arms to Kris's shoulders and pushing.

"Wha—" gasps Kris, sinking to his knees before it can occur to him that maybe, just maybe, he should be protesting this treatment.

"You," says Adam, moving on hand up to Kris's neck, fingers cupping the back of Kris's head and thumb stretching up to push at Kris's bottom lip and press into Kris's mouth, "I want to see _very_ busy."

Kris would ask with what, but Adam is already pulling down with that thumb as he surges forward, sliding his hard cock into Kris's mouth in a long, smooth motion. His cock bumps against the back of Kris's throat and he wants to gag, but then he doesn't because Adam is easing back, fingers stroking Kris's neck.

"This busy," says Adam, "is good busy."

Kris swallows, relishes the heat and the weight in his mouth and the steadily speeding sound of Adam's breathing above him, and agrees.

—

King Simon is angry.

"This is _unacceptable_ ," he fumes, stalking across the marble floor just in front of his throne. "It's been _days_ , and Squire Kristopher is _still alive_. How can this be happening _again_? Why can't he just _die_ already?"

"You don't know he's alive," says Ryan cautiously. "You haven't been able to see him at all with your… bowl thing."

"That's because he's with a _dragon_ , imbecile," King Simon snaps. "Even _I_ can't scry past a dragon."

Ryan looks confused. "Why not, your majesty?"

King Simon gives him an exasperated glare. "Dragons are practically made of magic. It disrupts the spell. Any spell. _All_ spells. Except those cast by that dragon."

"But… you really do think the squire is still alive?" Ryan asks, clearly skeptical. "After spending the last several days so close to a _dragon_ you couldn't see him?"

King Simon scoffs. "Trust me, if he were dead, I would know."

Ryan watches him pace for several minutes before asking, "What are you going to do?"

"Oh, I'll think of something," King Simon says darkly. "I will definitely think of something."

—

Having told the dragon about all of his quests, Kris thinks that will be the end of that, and maybe he'll get to hear about the dragon's life now. Or they might get to talk about why a _dragon_ would need so many human clothes — even if it has, by now, hidden all of the Kris-sized clothing — or what it does with all of its jewelry since clearly none of that would fit it.

So Kris is a little surprised when, while it watches Kris pick his breakfast from the basket of produce (where and how did the dragon get _carrots_?), the dragon puts its head on the ground by Kris's lap and brings up Kris's questing-for-knighthood history.

 _Again_.

"What more could there possibly be to tell?" asks Kris, frowning. "I already told you everything interesting about my quests. Which wasn't that much, to begin with."

"Uh-huh. Just for starters… How did you end up with _this_ quest?" says the dragon. It's watching Kris very carefully, blue eyes huge and intent as it looks up at him. "I was telling the truth, before. It's a terrible quest to hand to _anyone_ , much less a squire. You didn't volunteer for it, did you?"

"No!" blurts Kris, horrified; this quest involved _killing_ , and even if he hadn't told the dragon that, it had probably already figured it out on its own (the dragon is very smart, okay, Kris likes that about it) and if it thinks Kris is capable of that sort of thing— Well, it just hasn't been listening properly. "Of course I didn't! I would never—"

He breaks off, embarrassed. But the dragon is smiling at him.

"Yes," it says, "I hadn't thought you would."

"Oh." Kris clears his throat.

"So how _did_ you wind up trying to sneak into my hoard?"

"King Simon selected it for me personally," says Kris. He picks at an imaginary spot on the ground next to side of his lap where the dragon's head _isn't_ , so that he won't have to look at the dragon while he speaks. "He said he thought it was time I had something that I could either accomplish, or fail, no middle ground. And I guess I can understand why," he adds. "The way things stand, I'm sort of an embarrassment."

"An embarrassment?" repeats the dragon. There's an odd note to its voice, like maybe it's angry. Kris hopes it isn't mad at him.

"Well, none of them _say_ that, of course," he clarifies quickly. "But, I mean, the squire who can't get knighted and hasn't got the decency to at least get himself killed? Total embarrassment."

"You are not an embarrassment, Kristopher," the dragon says, voice fierce.

Kris sort of half-laughs, half-sighs, and shrugs. It's awfully nice of the dragon to say so, but—

"You are _not_ ," it insists. It scowls at him. "You— Do you honestly have that _little_ idea of what it is you've accomplished, just in those few things you've told me tales about?"

"I didn't accomplish anything," Kris says, uncomfortable. "That was the point, I thought."

"You thought wrongly, you impossible man." The dragon shuffles closer, lifting its head and pressing its snout to the side of Kris's neck. "The point was that I loved hearing what you've done."

Kris gives it a dubious look. "And why is that?"

"Because you're amazing," the dragon says, sounding much more like it's telling Kris he hasn't been paying attention and has missed something obvious and fundamental to the whole basis of the entire world. "Who else could do what you've done in only three quests?"

Kris's throat feels oddly tight, all of a sudden. He scoffs dryly. "What, you mean muck up diplomatic relations between three kingdoms, fail to obtain a simple item for my liege-lord, fail _again_ when sent on a simple hunting trip, give half my provisions to a bunch of deer—"

The dragon snorts. "Oh, yes, that. By the way, I've been meaning to ask; did they let you pet them?"

Thrown off-guard, Kris falters. "Uh. Yeah, they did. I fed them _apples_ , of course they let me touch them. Why does it matter?"

"Because they weren't deer," says the dragon, cheerful. "They were unicorns."

Kris chokes. "What?"

"Unicorns. You found a herd of wild unicorns," it explains.

 _It's joking_ , Kris thinks.

Except the dragon really doesn't look like it's joking.

"I'm sorry," says Kris, blinking, "but unicorns don't exist. They're a myth."

"Says the man talking to a dragon," it sighs. "No, honestly, Kris, they're perfectly real."

Kris shakes his head disbelievingly, but he's figured out already that directly contradicting the dragon about anything nonessential is pointless. "Well, then, they're extinct."

"Apparently not," says the dragon.

"But I— But they—" Kris frowns. His face is heating up, and he hates it, and that's just making him more uncomfortable. "I'm not a _maiden_ , why would they—"

The dragon laughs, up close to Kris's ear, and butts its snout against him again. "Now you're just being ridiculous. It's not about maidens. It's about people of virtue."

 _How does it know that?_ Kris wonders. There is no good reason for the dragon to know that. And, anyway, he's not even sure it's _true_ anymore, strictly speaking — does dream sex count? does it change if the person he has sex with in dreams is apparently real and walking into those dreams deliberately? has he been thinking about this too much?

His flush deepening, Kris clears his throat. "Just because I'm a virgin doesn't—"

"Not _that_ kind of virtue," the dragon interrupts. It looks amused. "That is part of it, but there are different kinds of virtue; you have many of them."

"I… have virtue?" queries Kris.

"Undoubtedly," says the dragon. "As has been made repeatedly clear."

"But— ‘repeatedly'? How?"

"The Drops of Jupiter. Fairy blessing, remember." The dragon's tongue flickers over the skin of Kris's neck, like it can taste them. "And whatever I may have joked to the contrary, fairies _never_ give those to the unworthy."

"Why would they think _I'm_ worthy?"

"Probably because you are."

Kris snorts, mostly unbelieving. But it's the _dragon_ , and he doesn't want to think that the dragon might be, like, completely delusional. Or stupid.

"I have another question," says the dragon. It's still really bright and cheerful, so whatever else Kris is worried about, he doesn't need to be afraid that the dragon can read his mind.

"Yeah? Go ahead."

"While you were in the forest, hunting those poor unsuspecting unicorns, were you doing anything else? Attempting to be sneaky, incanting, maybe making large amounts of noise?"

Kris swallows. "Well, I was singing, of course."

The dragon smiles. "And it was after you started singing that the big, really friendly dogs appeared. Wasn't it."

Kris nods. "Yeah, so? Why does it matter when they showed up?"

"Because those weren't dogs, Kris, they were the wolves." The dragon pauses and clears its throat gently, pointedly. "The Conway Maneaters." For a second, it looks smug. "You tamed the ravaging beasts with the power of your voice."

Kris stares. "But— The howling! There were howls, every night! If I'd tamed them—"

"I suspect the howls were meant to be a serenade, to convince you to stay."

Kris gapes, his mouth working soundlessly.

The dragon smirks. "Still think you're not special?"

"My last quest," whispers Kris, after a moment. "The pirates. What about that?"

"What about it?"

Kris makes a frustrated noise. "This ‘see impossible good in all of Kris's failures' business. You can't tell me there's a positive spin on _that_. I totally failed—"

"You did nothing of the kind. You avoided bloodshed and unnecessary conflict. You handled the situation in a truly admirable fashion," insists the dragon. It sounds a little bit annoyed. "Who told you that you failed?"

"I. Uh." Kris clears his throat. This wasn't _quite_ the direction he imagined this topic would go, but that just seems to happen with the dragon. "King Simon."

"Hm." The dragon tilts its head, and looks kind of… viciously thoughtful.

Kris hadn't known it was possible to look viciously thoughtful, but apparently, it is. Being a dragon probably helps.

"Is that… important?" he asks.

"It could be interesting." The dragon pulls away a little and smiles. "Besides, you got the Sword of Styx, didn't you?"

"I don't see what's special about that. It's just an old weapon."

"It's a symbol of power. And it's magic; for its true owner, it can never be lost or stolen." The dragon chuckles. "Dread Gokey took it off a dead man that he stumbled across by pure chance. You actually took it from his house."

"Wouldn't that mean it was broken?" asks Kris. At the dragon's incredulous look, he adds, "Because I stole it?"

"No," the dragon says immediately. "It means that the magic thought you were a more fitting owner than a pirate."

Kris ponders that.

"I don't get it," he says a few minutes later.

"That's all right. You don't need to," says the dragon. " _I_ get it."

"I don't get _that_ , either," mutters Kris.

The dragon laughs. "You're adorable."

—

The dragon is supervising as Kris carefully arranges several dozen crowns, hats and tiaras ( _why_ does a dragon need a _tiara_ , much less eight of them?) somewhere within the depths of its hoard, and it is interrogating Kris, yet again. This time it's asking things like what is his favorite food (chicken; the dragon does not seem surprised), and what is his favorite color (blue, as of recently), and how old is he (twenty-five, shut up, there have been older squires), and what was the first song he ever memorized (an original that he'd imaginatively titled ‘I Love My Puppy'; what, he was _three_ , okay).

Kris is getting a little tired of all these Kris-questions.

"Don't you think it's my turn to ask things?" he says, turning abruptly to face the dragon, his hands on his hips.

The dragon cocks its head at him. It hums thoughtfully. "In the interest of fairness, most likely it is."

Which doesn't actually mean yes.

He's getting ready to insist, when the dragon sighs and says, "Is there something specific you want to know?"

"What do you eat?" Kris asks promptly. He's prepared for this, okay; there's a little list that's been forming in his head.

"Whatever I want to," says the dragon.

"Which is…?"

The dragon smiles. "It varies."

Kris makes a frustrated noise. "You're being difficult."

"I never said I wouldn't be." It drops to the floor of the cave and crosses its forelimbs. Posing, basically. "Ask me about something more interesting."

"You and your _interesting_ ," mutters Kris.

"Interesting is better than boring," the dragon replies, like Kris wasn't just being scornful. "Come on, you must have _some_ interesting questions."

"What did you do with yourself before I showed up?" Kris promptly asks.

The dragon smiles. Again. "Dragony things."

Kris passes a hand over his face, feeling just _slightly_ frustrated. "Like collecting treasure, I suppose," he says dryly.

"That's a very dragony thing to do," agrees the dragon.

"And how long have you been doing that? Collecting treasure?"

"Since I _could_ ," the dragon says, tilting its head and staring at Kris as if to add, _Really? This is why you are interrupting my Kris-question Time? For this nonsense_?

Yes, it really is.

Kris deserves to have his questions answered just as much as Adam deserves to know how long it takes Kris to wear out his single pair of boots.

"Well, then how come none of the stuff in this cave is broken or tarnished or— or even falling apart? I mean." Kris waves a hand to encompass the whole of the dragon's hoard, all its shine and its sparkle and its leather and every thing, tiny and huge and bizarre and mundane, that the dragon has chosen to keep. "You've got some _old_ stuff here, and some of it's the kind of stuff that. Well. It shouldn't be able to _get_ this old."

"It's my treasure," says the dragon, as if this should be sufficient explanation.

"Oh." Kris frowns, because if there's some hidden meaning in ‘my treasure' that he's just supposed to understand, he's not getting it. "What if someone stole some of it?"

"Without killing me first?" The dragon shrugs. "I'd invoke hoard-law, and kill them. And they wouldn't do it again."

"Right." Kris bites his lip.

The dragon sighs. "Is that all, squire?"

After a second, Kris shakes his head. "The first day I was here, I commented on how little of your treasure seems to be gold. You said that of course it wasn't gold. Why… why is that?"

"I learned a long time ago that such things could never truly make me happy. And why hoard what doesn't please me?" The dragon pauses, eyes closing most of the way as it shrugs, smooth and graceful and calm like this should be _obvious_ to Kris.

Kris feels stupid when the dragon says stuff like that.

It helps a little that the dragon doesn't ever seem to _mean_ to make Kris stupid. The dragon is just…

"How old _are_ you?" asks Kris, abruptly. That hadn't been on the list of questions he meant to ask — actually, it was at the top of the Not Going To Ask list — but seriously, the dragon is kind of asking for it.

The dragon smiles at him, gentle despite the many teeth. "I am very, very old, squire, and going to get older."

Kris frowns. "So why do you put up with _me_? I'm hardly— I mean, you must've known hundreds of people. Thousands. Surely I'm not _that_ special."

"I have never met anyone," says the dragon, solemnly, "who compares with you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" demands Kris warily.

"Exactly what it sounds like." The dragon shuffles closer, rolling its eyes and nudging at Kris's shoulder with its wing, like it's really saying _Don't be dense, squire_.

Kris tenses slightly. "I don't see—"

"Oh, no, you're not thinking that nonsense about being an embarrassment again, are you?" exclaims the dragon, suddenly. "You'd better not be thinking _I_ think that."

"Of course I'm not?" Kris lies, unconvincingly. It might have been better, just possibly, if it didn't come out sounding like a question.

The dragon lets out a huff of cinnamon-y breath that sounds full-out frustrated, and suddenly it's right in front of Kris, staring down at him intently, filling up his world, the only thing he can see. The only thing _anywhere_ , as it curls a shining colorful wing around Kris's back and tugs him just a little closer. "Of course you _are_ , you infuriating, precious man. How do you not _see_? You find unicorns when you're not even looking for them. You win the grace of fairies you've never seen, you rescue ladies from pirates without spilling a drop of anyone's blood — you sing and play the lute and you treat a monster like your friend."

Kris opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. Then, he grumbles, "You're not a monster, you know."

"See?" The dragon smiles. Its tongue touches Kris's cheek softly. "You're more than special. I think you're _perfect_ , absolutely perfect."

Kris leans into the dragon's body, slightly. Or maybe more than slightly. Maybe a lot more than slightly. The dragon's scales are so _warm_ and smooth. Kris likes it. Maybe.

"If I were a perfect knight," he protests, "we probably wouldn't be having this conversation."

"If you were a perfect knight, you would have killed something a long time ago, because it was easier than doing anything else," agrees the dragon.

"There, see?" Kris feels vindicated. "Not perfect."

"You _are_." Cinnamon air wafts around the both of them, actually thick and _white_ this time, smokey and hot, creeping over Kris's senses. "You're just not a perfect _knight_."

Kris doesn't feel quite so vindicated anymore. "What am I, then?" he asks.

In Kris's ear, the dragon chuckles. "A perfect treasure."

—

Kris didn't fight when nap-time came around, at least partly because he was already so comfortable curled up on the floor with the dragon, so he's not really surprised when he immediately starts dreaming, this one beginning with him belly-down in a lazy sprawl across the feather mattress.

There are warm lips at the back of his neck and a big, gentle hand stroking up and down his spine.

"H'lo," Kris says into the bed, and flaps a hand vaguely back toward Adam.

Adam chuckles against Kris's skin. "Aww. You all worn out, baby?"

"Mnf."

"Had a strenuous morning?" Adam asks, like he knows exactly how _unstrenuous_ Kris's morning was, most of it spent curled up with the dragon. "Maybe I should go easy on you?"

Kris twists around just enough that his flailing hand can smack some part of Adam. He doesn't open his eyes.

Adam's weight shifts and his hand glides up to Kris's shoulder, his other hand joining it as his fingers start to knead at Kris's muscles.

"Mm, you think I should be nice to you, baby?"

"Trick question?" mumbles Kris, squirming a little, because Adam's hands feel really, really good, and Adam is warm along Kris's side and over his back — and honestly, at this point, Kris would be really disappointed if there _wasn't_ sex happening in his dreams.

Adam's hands drift lower, massaging as they go, working at knots in Kris's muscles that he didn't even know he had. Adam's mouth slides down, too, over the knobs of Kris's spine.

"I should definitely be nice to you," Adam answers himself, and he's shifting over behind Kris, nudging Kris's legs apart on the mattress so he can kneel between them, hands and mouth moving further down.

Kris gives a happy sigh and spreads willingly, making room for Adam wherever he wants to be.

Adam traces the dimples at the base of Kris's spine with his tongue, his hands cupping the back of Kris's thighs and pushing Kris's knees up the mattress. It cants Kris's hips off the bed, forcing him to stop his lazy little thrust against it, and opening him up even more for Adam.

Adam's hands glide back up Kris's legs and wrap around Kris's hips.

"So pretty for me, Kris," he croons, hot moist breath across Kris's skin as he drops a kiss at the top of one buttock and then suddenly licks a swift, wet stripe down the crease of Kris's ass, over his hole, all the way to his balls; Kris shudders, and Adam does it again. "So good, and all _mine_."

Kris thinks maybe he should reply to _that_ , at least, but Adam's fingertips rub small, distracting circles on the thin skin at the inside of Kris's hip, and Adam's tongue makes a firmer, more deliberate swipe over Kris's hole, licking around it while his hands hold Kris open for it and— and Kris really doesn't feel like _talking_.

He doesn't really feel like doing anything, actually, but lying there and letting Adam work him over with that stupid freckled ridiculously talented mouth. Fortunately, that seems to be exactly what Adam wants him to do.

Kris maybe likes doing what Adam wants him to.

Especially if it involves Adam letting go of Kris's hip with one hand so he can slide a finger into Kris's ass alongside his tongue.

—

"Dragon," Kris begins, reluctantly, as he picks at the roast chicken that appeared for his lunch.

The dragon makes a noise of acknowledgement and gives him a questioning look.

"I've been here a while now—"

The dragon snorts. Kris lets that go, because he's well aware it's a stupid, obvious thing to say.

"— and not that I'm complaining, even though I probably should be, but don't you think maybe I should, I don't know, bathe, or something?"

The dragon's eyes drift toward the bucket of water which it keeps not far from the bed, apparently for the _specific purpose_ of drenching Kris if he tries to put on a tunic. Or doesn't nap when the dragon decides that he's supposed to. Or, possibly, talks about leaving, though Kris hasn't done that for a while anyway.

"I mean actually _wash_ myself," Kris says, rolling his eyes. "Not get water dumped on me because I didn't nap or decided I wanted to actually be _decent_."

"You're saying that you want a _bath_ ," the dragon clarifies, slowly.

Kris nods.

The dragon hums. Kris bites his lip and stares at one shiny black horn instead of giving in to the delicious shiver the dragon's hum always evokes (like Kris can _feel_ that hum, even when they're not touching, like it's a tangible thing in the air).

Suddenly, the dragon perks up, wings stretching out as it draws itself up straighter.

"You just thought of something and I should probably be worried," states Kris, warily.

"Maybe." There's a very slight tilt to the dragon's head. "Squire, I believe I have a solution."

Kris eyes it. "Do you?"

The dragon shows its teeth. "Oh, yes."

—

The dragon's solution is to fly Kris up the mountain and drop him in what turns out to be a hot spring.

Like, literally _drop_ him in it.

Leggings and all.

Kris has a feeling he should probably have seen that coming.

—

Once Kris finishes sputtering and complaining at the dragon — he threw his wet leggings in the dragon's face after he took them off; the dragon just laughed, loudly like it was really, really happy, and spread the leggings on a rock in the sun to dry — he wades, naked, back into the hot spring and sluices the warm water, smelling strongly of minerals, repeatedly over his body. Up across his chest, over his shoulders; he ducks his head a couple of times and rubs water vigorously through his hair.

"I thought you didn't like being wet," remarks the dragon, who has been watching Kris in silence.

"I don't like getting water dumped on my head for no good reason," Kris replies, going deeper into the little natural pool. "Deliberately washing, and swimming? That's different. Well, swimming, I like, at least."

He slides forward into the water, arms working and legs kicking, and sets off for the other side. He swims over and back several times, until all his muscles ache pleasantly and he starts to feel water-logged, the dragon's eyes on him the whole time.

"Enjoy your swim?" it asks, as Kris finally drags himself out to rest on the rock next to the dragon.

Kris flops on his back and grins up at it, not even caring that he's dripping wet and naked. It's not as if there's anyone around but the dragon to see, anyway, and this time it's intentional and totally his choice, not the dragon's. "Yes," he says, "I did, thanks."

The dragon's tongue flicks out, tasting the air like it does sometimes, and its eyes dart sideways. "Aren't you going to put your leggings back on? They appear to be dry by now."

"I'd just get them wet again," Kris points out. "Better wait until I'm dry, too. Besides, this is nice."

To make his point, Kris stretches — like a cat, or maybe the dragon — over the sun-thick heat of the rock.

The dragon blinks down at him, once, then closes its eyes for good and all, curling up at Kris's side, a big scaly mass only slightly cooler than the rock. "In that case," it says, one forelimb brushing Kris's arm, "it's nap-time."

"… seriously?" asks Kris.

One of the dragon's wings twitches. "Shh."

Kris shuts up, and closes his eyes, too. He's clean (clean _er_ , anyway) and comfortable and the sun is warm, and he might as well.

—

For the first time since he met the dragon, Kris wakes (in his dream— dream wakes? dreams?) somewhere other than the large feather bed in the dragon's hoard cave. This time, he's sitting on a rock shelf at the edge of the hot spring, water up to his hips, top of his erection bobbing up above the water and Adam standing not very far away, smirking at him from waist deep in the water.

"Come here," says Adam, holding out one large, pale hand.

Kris just stares for a second, curling his toes in the warm water and thinking about how the water will feel against his cock as he moves out to the other man.

"Kris," says Adam, arching a brow.

Kris slips off the rock shelf, his breath catching at the water washing over his sensitized skin. His feet hit the bottom and the water washes up to his collarbone.

Adam is there, suddenly, inches in front of him, a hand on Kris's hip and another at the top of his thigh. "C'mon," he urges, pulling Kris deeper into the water.

"What—" Kris tries, but Adam's taken three big steps out and the water is already up to Kris's chin even on his tip-toes, so the words die in his throat. His hands are on Adam's shoulders, the only thing holding him up.

"You'll like this," Adam purrs, grinning, and pulls at Kris until he's wrapping his left leg around Adam's hip and Adam is lifting him to a safer height in the water, the crazy tall man. "God, I love that you're so tiny."

"I'm not," says Kris, breathlessly, his erection pushing slick and hot against Adam's stomach through the warm water. "I'm— Ungh."

Adam grins, moving even further into the spring until his back hits one of the walls of rock. "You are," he says, spinning so it's Kris who's pressed against the rock. "You're tiny and just… fuck, perfect. I can lift you right up."

Kris moans wordlessly, deciding that squirming down against Adam's dick, which is riding against his ass in the water, everything naturally slippery and delicious, is a much better use of his time than arguing. What does it matter if Adam thinks he's tiny? It gets him manhandled in really awesome ways in his dreams; Kris isn't going to complain.

"Adam," Kris gasps.

Adam smiles predatorily, teeth and eyes flashing. "Your legs. Wrap them both around me," he growls, as he tugs Kris's leg higher. "Kris. C'mon."

Kris doesn't know if it's even possible for him to argue with Adam, in these dreams, but he really doesn't want to this time because, fuck, wrapping his other leg up around Adam's waist is just about the _best_ fucking thing he could do, his cock rubbing against Adam's hip and Adam's snugged into the crease of Kris's ass and— God.

He really, really just wants to get Adam inside him right _now_.

"Adam," he moans, twisting desperately, hoping that Adam will guess what he wants and _give_ it to him. Adam is almost always good at that, like, scarily brilliant at it, so—

"Yeah," says Adam, voice soothing, even as his hand creeps up Kris's thigh and over his ass, until there are fingertips pressing at Kris's hole.

Adam is definitely brilliant.

Kris moans something, he doesn't even know what, and tips his head back against the rock, staring up at the sky that's blueblueblue but not as blue as Adam's eyes, as Adam gets one, then two, fingers in and works him open.

Seconds or hours later, Adam's fingers are pulling out and Adam's mouth is on his throat and Adam's hand on Kris's ass is lifting him just a little higher so can line up and push his cock in. He didn't stretch Kris very much and there's only water and it burns a little but there's the water lapping over Kris's chest and it's Adam and it still feels good, feels awesome; Kris moans again, Adam's name this time.

Adam growls, sets his teeth in Kris's neck like he's marking Kris, like he's claiming Kris, and starts thrusting.

Kris closes his eyes, because with Adam inside him, he doesn't need to see the sky. He doesn't need to see anything.

Kris's orgasm hits him like a blow to the chest, forcing the air out of his lungs and stuttering his heart, ripping through him so all he can do is cling to Adam and shake. Adam groans, deep and rough like the same boulder hit him, and then he's lifting his head and slanting his mouth over Kris's to muffle the noise he makes as he bucks up hard and comes too.

Kris fumbles a hand up into Adam's hair, parts his lips wide and thrusts his tongue into Adam's mouth the way Adam is still thrusting into _him_ , slow, sloppy little pushes of his hips for no other reason than he can. The aftershocks spiral out down Kris's limbs and Adam's thrusts slow to a stop, one big hand coming up to rest on Kris's neck, thumb cradling his jaw, as the kiss gentles and stretches on, messy and soft and imprecise.

Kris sinks into it contentedly.

It goes on, Adam's lips moving over his, their tongues sliding slick and lazy together, until Kris wakes up.

—

Kris has been lying on a pebble or something, and he can feel that it left a mark on his face. He rubs at it with the back of one hand as he sits up and stretches, looking around.

The sun has sunk lower in the sky, but not enough that more than an hour or two has passed, and Kris is totally dry and only faintly pink from the sun. There's a flushed, happy feeling lingering from his dream, and he grins as he nudges the dragon on his way to pick up his leggings.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," he cheerfully calls over his shoulder, wiggling his way into the slightly stiff leggings.

When he turns back around, the dragon has opened its eyes to stare at Kris, but otherwise hasn't moved.

"Well, someone certainly enjoyed their nap," it drawls. Before Kris can reply, its wings spread, huge and bright in the sun, and distract him. "You're so adorable, all cheerful."

"You're not exactly grumpy right now, either," Kris points out.

"I enjoyed my nap, too," says the dragon, like that much should be obvious. "I think perhaps I shouldn't let you sleep anywhere but the bed from now on, though."

Kris blinks; his nap on the rock might not have been _the_ most comfortable ever, but _he's_ not complaining. "What? Why?"

The dragon touches Kris's cheek with the tip of one wing, right on the spot where Kris had been rubbing. The pebble spot.

"Oh," says Kris. He bats the dragon's wing away, even though he doesn't really mind the feel of the warm, leathery skin against his. "Don't you think maybe where I end up sleeping is for _me_ to complain about, if I don't like it?"

"Were you going to complain?" asks the dragon, as it stretches its body in one great, scale-shuddering roll.

"No."

The dragon makes a _tsk_ ing sound at Kris; he hadn't known it could do that. "Then no, it isn't."

"Well what makes it _your_ job to complain about it?" says Kris, less indignant than he probably ought to be.

The dragon stares at him for a moment.

Then it holds out a forelimb imperiously. "Come here. We should be getting back to my cave, and I still have dinner to get you."

"Yeah, I know," says Kris, "my annoying constant eating," but he goes to the dragon and lets it grab him.

The dragon doesn't reply, just carefully, gently tightens its hold and takes off into the air.

—

Kris can't stop showing how cheerful he feels, smiling stupidly to himself.

The dragon notices, of course it does.

Kris manages to ignore it until they get back to the cave.

"Maybe I should drop you in the hot spring more often," says the dragon, its voice teasing. It butts its head against Kris's shoulder.

Kris snorts. "The hot spring was nice, I guess, but maybe a little excessive."

"Oh, really?"

Kris raises his eyebrows and glances to the side of the dragon's hoard where he _knows_ there's a brass bathtub (filled with dozens of jewel-toned wispy ladies' shawls; Kris isn't questioning it, he's just not) because he found it a while ago. "A tub full of ordinary hot water would probably have been good enough," he says mildly. "And I'm pretty sure your little flame thing would make perfectly decent hot water."

"‘My little flame thing'?" repeats the dragon, narrowing its eyes at Kris.

Nodding, Kris waves vaguely in the direction of the brass bathtub. "Next time, just fill that thing back there with water and breathe fire on it, or whatever. You don't need to go flying me all over the mountain."

The dragon freezes in place.

"I mean," Kris goes on quickly, "if the tub is, like, sacred, or anything, I can totally make do with—"

"No," says the dragon, and suddenly it is positively _beaming_ at Kris. "No, _next time_ , I'll fill the tub with hot water for you."

"Well." Kris eyes the dragon a little uncertainly for a second. It looks kind of like, well, like Kris's mother said _he_ looked, when he finally got his guitar. "If you're sure that's all right with you, then."

"It's totally all right with me," says the dragon, still beaming. Then it pauses, and seems to think for a second, before hurrying over and settling on the ground next to the bed. " _Provided_ ," it goes on, "you rub my back again."

Kris blinks. "Uh. Sure?"

The dragon gives him a _look_. "I meant _now_."

"Oh, right. Of course," says Kris, and because the dragon is already right by the bed, all he has to do is climb up and wiggle his way onto the dragon's shoulders.

The scales feel exactly the way he remembered, and like before, almost as soon as he starts stroking the space between the dragon's wings, there's the deep, rumbling purr.

It's possible that the purr is responsible for Kris falling asleep on the dragon's back.

Not that he did, of course, he just… might have. Maybe. Possibly. And if he had it was the fault of that stupid, soothing purring.

—

By the time Kris's dream starts, Adam is already touching him, hands stroking the length of Kris's arms and tongue licking across his collarbone.

"Adam?" he says, even though he knows that of course it's Adam. The hands move up to his shoulders, curling around them for a moment, then sweeping down over Kris's chest, fingertips brushing his nipples.

"What _took_ you so long?" asks Adam into the hollow of Kris's throat, hands stilling in a possessive grip around Kris's hips.

"I thought I fell asleep pretty quickly," says Kris, with a little gasp at the end as Adam's teeth graze skin.

Adam gives a little laugh. "Not _that_ ," he says confusingly, then rears up and kisses Kris before he can ask what on earth Adam _is_ talking about.

Adam's hands on his hips pull them up, urging Kris to rut against Adam's stomach. Kris does, his cock dragging against Adam's skin, and he moans into the kiss just before Adam breaks it.

He shudders and fumbles his hands up, one gripping Adam's shoulder and the other in Adam's hair, as Adam's lips move across his jaw and down his neck, reverently trailing kisses — kisses that tingle strangely and leave an odd sticky feeling in their wake. Adam is murmuring something as he goes, voice low and intense, and Kris isn't entirely sure but he thinks it sounds a lot like _mineminemine_.

Kris's fingers clench around the silky black strands of Adam's hair because that— that, _Adam's_ , yeah, that sounds fine with him. Totally fine. More than fine, better than fine, and—

Adam reaches Kris's chest, lips closing around a nipple and sucking lightly, and Kris groans and looks down, to see that Adam's got his eyes closed and there are streaks of glittering color, blue and silver, every place Adam's lips have been.

"What are…" Kris trails off, as Adam opens his eyes.

They're glowing.

"You belong with me," Adam says, fiercely, and drags a line of glitter down Kris's sternum with his lips.

"Um," says Kris eloquently, squirming, not sure if he's trying to get away, just unable to keep still.

Adam smiles, hard and glinting, and lays a colorful kiss to each of Kris's ribs in turn, working his way down. "You do," he says, like he's sharing profound knowledge. He swirls his tongue in Kris's belly button, making him huff something that's not quite a laugh. "You really, really do, now and for the rest of it."

"Of what?" Kris says, right before the blood leaves his brain in favor of rushing to his dick as Adam's mouth reaches it.

Adam licks it once, carefully, from base to top, swirling his tongue around the head. Then he does it again, and again, and _again_ , and _more_ , and Kris forgets that they were even talking. Until—

"Time," says Adam, pausing. "Forever," he adds, and sets to worshipping in earnest, making his previous attentions look like teasing, inexpert touches, like _nothing_.

It's heart-stopping, toe-curling, it's—

Too good.

"No," Kris manages to gasp, tugging at Adam's hair.

Adam hesitates briefly, but he obeys, pulling off and lifting his head. Kris whimpers raggedly, because it's almost like it hurts, losing the wet encompassing warmth of Adam's mouth on him, but it's not— he doesn't want—

"Please," he says, breathless, "Adam, please, inside me?"

Adam stares at him a moment, eyes hot, considering, and then he licks his lips.

"After," he says, and his head drops, wrapping his lips back around the head off Kris's cock and sucking, tonguing at the slit before sliding down further, taking more of Kris into his mouth.

Kris throws his head back, body jerking as he comes, hard and abrupt, in a sudden rush of unbearable pleasure.

Adam swallows until Kris is done, then removes his mouth slowly, Kris's cock falling from his mouth with a wet plop. He whispers something inaudible and presses sloppy, adoring kisses to the rise of each of Kris's hipbones, spreading splashes of color that sparkle as Kris shifts.

He keeps raining kisses on Kris's skin, over his hips and stomach, around his thighs, turning Kris on his side to pepper the small of his back and the ridges of his spine and—

Oh, yes.

To push Kris's leg up and get hands on Kris's ass, spread glitter over the crease between his cheeks, over his entrance.

It doesn't feel like glitter or anything that should sparkle, it's just a warm tingle of attention, like a tangible _claim_ , and Kris is still focusing on the rush of it, of Adam's dear, amazing lips — over the jut of his shoulder blades now, up toward the nape of his neck — even as Adam's hand slips between his legs and strokes his hole.

Adam works him open with quick, efficient fingers, pressing in and stretching like he knows just how to touch to get Kris's body to do what he wants — and he does, he so completely does, because it's barely moments before he's pulling his hand away, shifting up and pushing in, just enough of a stretch left to make Kris hiss and wiggle back into it.

"Yes, yes, shh, that's it," Adam croons softly, encouraging nonsense as he bottoms out. Kris reaches back and grips tight to Adam's thigh, his hip, pulling him close and holding him where Kris wants him.

Kris is hard again, he realizes dazedly, hard like he never even stopped, and Adam's curling a hand around his erection, while wrapping the other arm under him so Adam can press the other hand flat to Kris's chest, right over his heart.

Adam's mouth is on his neck, and Adam's cock is buried in him, hips snug up against his ass. Adam isn't even thrusting, just staying pressed deep inside, right up against that spot that has the edges of Kris's vision fading into starburst, hips rocking in slow, mesmerizing, undulating waves. Kris is awash with blue and silver and glitter and sparkle, he feels like he's glowing as bright and brilliant as Adam's eyes, and it's _exactly the way it should be_.

"Come on," Adam urges, breath whispering hot over Kris's ear as he works Kris's cock sure and steady. "Let go, baby, I want you to. Let go for me, Kristopher."

And Kris does, impossibly, painfully good, shuddering and clenching tight around Adam's cock, spurting over Adam's fingers and his own belly, slippery sticky hot mess everywhere as Adam strokes him through it, past it.

" _Kris_ ," gasps Adam, into Kris's hair, and then his cock is slamming in sharply even though it never _left_ and Adam is shaking behind him, coming too, hard inside Kris, and Kris deliberately squeezes around him as best he can. He brings his hand up, feeling almost feeble with the aftershocks, and works his trembling fingers in between Adam's until they're properly laced together, holding tight.

He shakily whispers Adam's name back.

Adam shudders behind him, pushing even closer, somehow filling Kris just that little more.

"You," Adam says, words barely loud enough to be heard, "truly make me happy."

It feels like a benediction.

—

Kris wakes slowly, too comfortable to bother moving as he drifts toward consciousness. He feels boneless and happy, good all over.

When he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is the dragon, and the first thing he does is smile.

"Good morning," it says, blinking its vivid blue eyes at him. "Sleep well, did you?"

Kris thinks of soft, freckled lips, and lines of blue and silver traced over his skin, sparkling in the light from a thousand candles that aren't there.

"Yeah, I. I guess it was okay," he says, possibly the biggest understatement he's ever heard from himself, or anyone, and bites his lip, feeling himself flush.

The dragon watches him intently for a few moments. "Shall I fetch your breakfast?" it asks eventually.

Kris's breath catches, because it feels like a servant asking, or when Kris talks to the king, and it's coming from the _dragon_ and—

"Yes," he croaks. "Yes, please."

The dragon smiles as it gets to its feet, smiles wide and glittering and all for Kris.

—

Nap-time means more dreaming of Adam, and Kris falls into it like a glutton into the middle of the harvest feast.

"Eager," says Adam, around Kris's kisses, as Kris fists his hands in Adam's hair and crawls into Adam's lap.

"Yes," agrees Kris, wrapping his legs around Adam's waist and wriggling in closer, pressing his erection to Adam's stomach. "Yes, yes, just shut up this time and— and kiss me."

Adam _laughs_ , low and delighted, and topples them to lie flat on the bed, Kris's legs still cradling him close.

"Kiss you, huh?"

Kris nods, the best he can with Adam's lower lip between his teeth. Releasing it, he says, " _Yes_ , and _fuck_ me. Now, please."

He rubs his hips against Adam to make his point, and Adam laughs again, more breathlessly.

"Gotta open you up first," says Adam. He pulls one of Kris's hands away from his hair, bringing it to his mouth instead and swirling his tongue around one fingertip before dropping a quick, sucking kiss on it. "This time I want _you_ to do it."

Kris's breath catches. "Oh. That's." He moans. " _Oh_."

"Wanna see you," Adam says, and sucks two fingers in all the way, tongue working around them.

Kris stares, cock jerking and leaking all over Adam's stomach, his eyes wide, gasping and moaning as Adam sucks and licks at his fingers, getting them wet and then wetter. Getting them ready.

"Okay," he whispers, fingers twitching inside Adam's mouth, pressing against his tongue. "I can do that."

Without warning, Adam stops mid-lick, his head jerking up and swinging around until he's staring somewhere off the edge of the bed, a startled expression on his face.

For a moment Kris feels too heavy, his brain too slow to process Adam pulling away, but then in a cold rush like a bucket of water dropped on his head, it registers. He frowns.

"Adam?"

"Knights," says Adam, his eyes narrowing at, as far as Kris can tell, nothing. "There are knights climbing my mountain. Seven of them."

"What—" Kris starts, but his voice cuts off abruptly.

Adam has disappeared.

—

Kris wakes to the dragon's forelimb across his chest, shaking him, and the dragon's head looming above him.

Kris squints at it, confused. "Um, what? Dragon?"

" _Knights_ , Kristopher!" the dragon says impatiently.

"Knights?" Kris repeats stupidly, sure he's heard wrong, that it's just the after-impression of his dream lingering in his head and making him hear things.

The dragon snorts, a thin tongue of fire curling out the side of its mouth. "Weren't you listening? There are _knights_ on my mountain."

For another second, it doesn't sink in.

Then it does, sharp and sudden, and Kris has a moment of irrational panic. Knights pose no danger to him — he knows most of the knights in the kingdom, after all, and he doesn't think any of them wish him ill — but if they've come to the dragon's mountain they've probably come for a _reason_. And no reason for anyone coming to the dragon's mountain can be good for the dragon. Just look at why _Kris_ came to the dragon's mountain, and Kris is like the least threatening person in the history of ever.

Kris absolutely, emphatically does _not_ want anything bad to happen to the dragon.

"You should hide," he says quickly, trying to keep the fear out of his voice and probably not succeeding. He sits up and scrambles toward the edge of the bed. "I'll go figh— I'll talk to them."

The dragon turns its head back to face Kris and sort of… stares. "Fight them?" it asks, _of course_ picking up on what Kris stopped himself from saying. "You would fight them?"

Kris licks his lips. "Yes," he whispers. There's no point in lying, and it's the truth.

"You don't fight _anything_ ," says the dragon. "You didn't even fight _me_ when you thought I was going to _eat_ you."

"I'll fight them," Kris insists.

The dragon watches him for several seconds that feel like ages, to Kris.

"You'd fight _knights_ ," says the dragon, slow, "for _me_."

 _I'd fight anyone for you_ , Kris thinks, but doesn't say because it's ridiculous and stupid and he doesn't know if he wants it to be true, anyway. "Yes," he says, instead.

"Hmm." The dragon gets to its feet; Kris thinks, for a pleased moment, that the dragon has listened to him, but then the dragon picks him up and sets him in front of it, pushing him along with its snout.

"Wha…?" Kris splutters.

"We're going to go down the mountain and see what they want," says the dragon, and it sounds calm. "No fighting necessary."

"But… but what if they want to _hurt_ you?" Kris worries.

"Then I'll set them on fire and roast them in their armor," replies the dragon. "There's no need to fret, Kris."

Kris does not agree.

—

The knights are in the glen near the base of the mountain, where Kris left Zorro. They've dismounted and are standing around Zorro and the neat pile that Kris made of Zorro's kit before he left him.

There are half a dozen of them, and (he can tell from looking at their shields) Kris knows them all, at least by reputation. A couple of them, Sir Cale and Sir Charles, were his friends from the days before they were knighted, and the others he can at least put names to faces.

They see Kris and the dragon coming. (Of course they do. The dragon is kind of.… large.) By the time Kris and the dragon reach them, they've all drawn their weapons and are brandishing them, looking much more threatening than Kris has ever seen them, or wants to imagine anyone looking when it's directed at the dragon.

"Hold!" calls the lead knight, apparently when he realizes that Kris is with the dragon.

The knights all stop moving, and apparently so does the dragon, but Kris doesn't, not until he feels a claw hooking in the back of the leggings and pulling him to a sudden, jerking halt.

Kris opens his mouth to speak, to demand to know why they're climbing _his_ dragon's mountain, in full battle dress and heavily armed, but the dragon's voice comes before his, louder and more commanding than Kris has ever learned how to be.

"This mountain belongs to _me_ ," it says, coldly. There's the faintest whisper of hot, cinnamon-y dragon breath blowing over Kris's shoulder. "What is your business here?"

"We've come on King Simon's orders to find squire Kristopher," says one of the other knights.

"I'm right here?" says Kris cautiously, though given that all the knights are _staring_ at him, that should be pretty obvious.

"We've _also_ come to bring him home," says a knight who Kris instantly recognizes as Cale.

"Kris isn't going back," snaps the dragon.

 _Yeah_ , thinks Kris, _it'd be hard to do_ that _, after I've gone and gotten used to being around dragons. This one, anyway_.

"Our king has given us his orders," says the lead knight, stubbornly.

"You think I care?" says the dragon, and he sounds… dangerous, in a way that Kris hadn't realized he could sound.

The knights exchange glances from under their helms.

"Please," Kris says quickly. "Don't make him mad."

"'Him'?" Cale repeats questioningly.

"The dragon," says Kris. He looks nervously over his shoulder, but the dragon is watching him now and doesn't look as if it's about to set anyone on fire. "Just… don't make it mad, okay."

"You said 'him'," says Cale, pulling off his helmet, apparently solely to frown at Kris. "The dragon's a _him_?"

"I'm certainly not a _her_ ," the dragon says righteously, still looking at Kris. It looks like maybe it's thinking about grinning.

Kris bites his lip. "Well, but you do have quite a lot of—"

"Irrelevant," the dragon interrupts, lifting a claw and making a motion as if to flick Kris's contribution to the subject completely aside.

"Um," says one of the knights, and then nothing else.

Kris looks back over at them and he finds them all staring, still, but with helmets off and bemused expressions on their faces.

"You're alive," one of them — who without his helm is clearly Sir Tommy — says slowly. He gives Kris a rather pointed once-over. "And… _looking well_. Maybe a little… cold, though."

The dragon's head is suddenly much closer to Kris. "And he's going to stay that way," it says. Kris isn't sure whether the dragon is talking about his being alive, or looking well, or the fact he's wearing nothing but his leggings, or perhaps all three — or something else entirely.

"Good," says Charles, after a moment in which the knights all look at each other several times, and then he actually goes so far as to put his sword away. "I… don't suppose you could put a tunic on him, though?"

"No," the dragon says firmly. "That won't be happening."

Charles and Cale both give Kris these deeply sympathetic, kind of pitying looks that make Kris flush all over in embarrassment — not because he's half-naked, but because he's just realized that he barely _notices_ it anymore and doesn't care, he's used to it. He shuffles his feet and carefully doesn't meet anyone's eyes.

"We really are supposed to take him back," says the leader — Sir David, a slightly more senior knight than the rest, who Kris knows the least (he's more familiar with the man's squire) — and he sounds wary as he says it, and resigned, and maybe just a little bit apologetic.

"I will kill you if you try," the dragon says back, conversationally.

Kris startles, turning to stare at the dragon. "Please don't kill them," he says, because obviously the knights aren't here as a threat to the dragon's well-being, not really, so they don't deserve death.

The dragon looks at Kris for a few moments, like he's considering something, then he looks back at the knights and says, "If you don't attempt to take Kris from me, I'll… permit you to return to your king and inform him that Kris is alive, and well, and safe. All of you, and unharmed."

"I don't think that will be enough," says Sir David, looking torn.

"It had better be," says the dragon, voice fierce, and without thinking about it Kris reaches out an arm to curl around the dragon's neck, scales warm under his hands, and leans in as close as he can get.

Kris would really rather not watch his friends get hurt, but if they try to take him away from the dragon, he just _knows_ the dragon will do something stupid (it's like a child who never learnt to share), and then the knights will _have_ to be dealt with. Kris won't countenance harm coming to the dragon. So he really, really hopes they can avoid the knights trying to take him.

Charles's gaze swings over to Kris, and the way he's now basically clinging to the dragon. "You're okay here," he says, after a moment, and it isn't a question.

"I am," says Kris.

The knights seem to consider this, while Kris and the dragon wait.

"Well, that's enough for _me_ ," Sir Anoop eventually says, from the back of the group. "I'm not fighting any dragons if I don't have to, and really, I don't think I have to, here."

"Yeah," agree Cale and Charles. They're looking pretty intently at Kris. Cale adds, "I _really_ don't think we have to."

Kris blushes furiously. He clears his throat.

"All right," says Sir David, sounding odd. Looking at him, Kris sees that any expression on his face has shut done; he's gone totally blank. It's a little bit bizarre. "If that's the way you want it, we'll try that, then. I doubt it will work, though."

"Generous of you," says the dragon dryly.

Sir David swings to glare at the dragon. "Squire Kristopher is welcome, of course, to come with us, if he chooses."

The dragon inhales sharply. Kris has a sudden, vivid mental image of it setting Sir David on fire.

"Uh, thanks," says Kris, hurriedly, with a tight smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

Sir David opens his mouth to reply. So does Cale, and probably some of the other knights.

"Right," snaps the dragon abruptly. "You may rest here until the morning. I'll return then to ensure that you leave my mountain."

"Dragon—" Kris starts.

"Come, squire," it interrupts, picking him up and taking flight.

—

The trip back to the dragon's lair is spent in silence, mostly because flying isn't particularly conducive to conversation, but at least partly because Kris can't decide what he wants to say first. Or even if there's anything for him _to_ say.

—

Back in the hoard cave, the dragon moves quickly away from Kris, crossing the cave and half-concealing itself behind a truly huge pile of tapestries. It keeps looking at Kris, who's sitting in the armchair by the bed, but not in its usual fashion of shameless staring; it's watching him out of the corner of its eye, almost warily.

It's more than a little unnerving.

Kris hesitates. Then, reminding himself that he _is_ actually brave whatever anyone else might say about it, he takes a deep breath and says, "Are you alright?"

The dragon jerks, startled. Several of the tapestries topple off the pile, the fall of vivid colors not distracting Kris at all. "What?" it says.

Kris frowns. "Dragon? What's wrong?"

"If you want to, you can go with them," it blurts.

Kris might not know what he was expecting, exactly, but it wasn't _that_. "Uh. What?"

"Leave," says the dragon. "You can, you know."

"I don't need to leave," says Kris, too startled to think of anything else to say.

"No," says the dragon, sounding like agreement. It sags a little. "No, but you want to."

Kris opens his mouth.

"You do, don't you?" insists the dragon—

Which is when Kris hears the _leave me_ at the end of it all and realizes what the dragon is really asking.

It's not the truth at _all_ , though; Kris _doesn't_ want to leave the dragon, he just maybe doesn't so much want to stay where he is, as things are.

So he doesn't argue with the dragon's assessment.

The dragon gives him a level, horribly standoffish look and announces, "You needn't remain if you don't wish to. You may do whatever you wish."

Then it leaves him.

—

Kris expects the dragon to come back before too long, carrying Kris's dinner in a basket like usual, maybe looking a little sulky or with a grumpy extra rumble in its voice.

The dragon doesn't.

Hours pass before it returns, and by then Kris is bored and hungry and irritated and — if he's honest — feeling neglected. The time alone has been more than enough to remind him of all the reasons that he really doesn't enjoy staying here in the dragon's cave, because he has _nothing_ to do, especially when he's by himself, and he has no control over anything here. Granted, he's _never_ had all that much control even back home, because he _is_ just a squire and sort of the kingdom joke to boot, but at least out there he could be responsible for getting his own _food_. He didn't spend all his time lying around in bed being useless, waiting for a big, scaly jerk to remember that he needs to eat.

Actually, the more Kris thinks about it, the more it bothers him.

Kris _likes_ the dragon. He does, and for more reason than just that the dragon has not yet given Kris that look he's so used to, the disappointed, exasperated one which speaks so clearly of _how can you be so stupid, squire_.

The dragon is bossy, and grumpy when it hasn't had its way, and smug, and arrogant, and _brilliant_ , and (usually) kind to him, and nice, and strangely charming, and adorable, and—

Kris can admit it.

The dragon is magnificent.

It's also _amazing_ , and Kris wants to show it off, hold it up to the world and say look at this, look at _him_ , have you ever seen his like?

(Kris doesn't think he'd ever confess to the dragon about having such an urge. It would probably laugh at him. And possibly threaten to do the same to Kris, which is unthinkable.)

But the cave, well, the cave is different.

Kris hates the cave.

He hates being confined, and cut off, and being made to feel helpless. And, yes, he hates the ever-present inevitable suggestion that he's somehow less than the dragon (though he probably is), because if he's less, if he's unequal, then Kris deserves to be burned for having the temerity to speak to it as he does — and Kris does not want to be burned — but he can't imagine speaking to the dragon any other way.

He _cannot_ be scared and deferential, not when he knows the sound of the dragon's laugh, its purr, the way its voice gets soft sometimes when talking to him.

He cannot be a kept thing, a slave, a possession.

Besides, he's utterly unworthy of all this.

He cannot stay in the cave.

"Dragon," he forces himself to begin, when the dragon has finally returned — without food for Kris, without explanation for its absence, without any sort of explanation or greeting, and definitely without apology.

It turns to him, head rising and wings lifting. "Yes, squire?"

Kris takes a slow, deep breath. Then, "I don't want to be here anymore."

The dragon freezes.

"I don't like it here," Kris adds, emphatically.

The dragon stares in confusion for a moment. Then it flinches.

Kris doesn't feel at all as satisfied as he thinks he should.

"Oh," says the dragon, after a pause. Nothing else, just that soft sound of acknowledgement.

Kris stares at it, his jaw set, until he sees the dragon's wings droop from their hopeful little arches. Its head even dips a little, slowly lowering, and its eyes sort of lose their shine, in a way he is _not_ thinking about at all — because all he's said is the truth, and it's hardly his fault that maybe the dragon doesn't like that so much.

If the dragon has any reaction beyond that, though, Kris doesn't see, because he rolls over, very deliberately turning his back on it.

It's still not until after he hears the rustling scrape of scales on stone which means the dragon's curled itself next to the bed, like it usually does, that Kris manages to fall asleep.

—

Kris dreams, of course, of the black-haired man, of Adam. This time Adam is perched naked on the side of the mattress, his legs drawn up so his heels are on the edge of the bed, his arms looped around his knees, curled in on himself. Kris crawls over and leans against his back.

"You're leaving, then?" Adam asks, out of nowhere, with no preamble whatsoever.

There should be only one possible answer to that; Kris shouldn't even have to think about it. This is the home of a monster (only no, it isn't, not really), far away from his family, his life; everything he knows. He should be leaping at the chance to see the last of it. Kris honestly _does_ want to go home. And he truly doesn't like being here.

‘Yes,' he knows he should say. He _means_ to to say it. Somehow, what leaves his mouth is,

"Maybe."

Bizarrely, this makes Adam relax, like he's heard more in Kris's words than Kris thought he'd said. Probably, Adam has. Kris closes his eyes and presses closer.

"You'll be missed," says Adam.

"I'll miss you, too," Kris whispers. "I've kinda gotten used to seeing you whenever I sleep."

"And the dragon?" the man asks tightly. "Will you miss him?"

"Of course," says Kris without thinking. It's the truth.

Kris has gotten pretty fond of his dragon, after all. He can pretend otherwise when he has to, when he's _awake_ , but he _has_.

Kris doesn't have a chance to think about that more, or to say anything else, because Adam is turning around, his hand at the back of Kris's neck, and he's kissing Kris firmly, desperately, like he's trying to say something without words. Then Kris is on his back, again, Adam between his legs, bearing him deeper into the feather mattress as they kiss and kiss and kiss. It feels even wilder than usual and it's good, it's _perfect_.

Kris's skin is hot, and he's glad neither of them ever wear clothes in these dreams, because he's already so hard he _aches_ , and Adam is hard too, throbbing against Kris's hip.

Before Kris knows it, he's panting while Adam mouths his neck and works him open enough with slick fingers to take that big, glorious cock.

Take it Kris does, moaning and _loving_ it, god the stretch and the _incredible_ fullness of it — and Adam above him, whispering praise and encouragement into Kris's neck as he rocks his hips and Kris quivers. It's good, so good, better than ever, and Kris doesn't even have to vocalize what he wants before Adam is wrapping a big, black-nailed hand around Kris's cock and stroking, Adam's own cock buried deep and thrusting desperately.

Kris comes abruptly, explosively, starbursts behind his eyes and a voice in his ear saying his name.

—

Kris wakes with the dragon wrapped around him. He's no longer on the bed.

The dragon is staring down at him with big sorrowful eyes.

"What—" Kris says, beginning to panic, thinking something must have gone wrong while he slept. Maybe the knights tried to get in, maybe—

"The knights will depart once the sun rises fully," the dragon says solemnly. "You'll be going back with them."

Kris's throat closes up. "Oh."

"I would ask you to return soon," says the dragon, its tongue reaching out to brush Kris's cheek (Kris wonders what it's tasting this time), "but I don't know that I could let you leave a second time."

Kris's chest feels tight. It has nothing to do with the scaly limbs holding him close. "‘Let me'?" he repeats.

"Of course, _let_ you." The dragon bends until it can press its snout to the side of Kris's face; its breath is hot and cinnamon-y on Kris's neck. "You _are_ mine, you know."

Kris knows. He's pretty sure he should argue — or at least _want_ to — but he _does_ know. He doesn't even object, not to that.

He nods.

—

The knights send awkward sideways glances at Kris, still held by the dragon, as they prepare to depart. They clearly spent an uncomfortable, restless night at the base of the mountain beneath the dragon's cave, and waking to see the dragon walking down with Kris on its back behind its wings clearly didn't help matters. Nor, Kris imagines, did seeing him slide off the dragon's back into its forelimbs like he did it every day.

"We're ready," says Cale, eventually, when they've packed up all their things and saddled their horses, and the sun has topped the eastern horizon.

"Right," say Kris quietly. He slowly pulls away from the dragon and heads over to Zorro, ignoring the glances the knights are throwing at him. He clears his throat.

"You'll be joining us, then?" says Sir David, surprised.

Kris nods, beginning to saddle Zorro. He doesn't say anything.

Cale and Charles look relieved, but Sir David's face sort of pinches up oddly and he throws an unreadable look at the dragon before he says, "Right," and goes back to his own horse.

No-one says anything else as Kris finishes with Zorro and mounts, nor as they leave.

Kris doesn't say goodbye to the dragon.

He can't.

—

They ride at a steady pace, faster than Kris had gone on his solitary way up to the dragon's cave — a memory that feels almost as if it happened to another person — but they're working their way down through the foothills of the dragon's mountain instead of up them, and anyway they're aiming for the king's castle, not a hidden cave. Reaching the dragon's lair required a tracker; anyone and their blind dog could find the king's castle.

The day's journey is mostly uneventful. They stop once a little after midday to eat lunch (which is when Kris discovers that, _somehow_ , the dragon had managed to fill Zorro's pack with cinnamon-y fruit, and Kris's throat tightens up so badly that he can't talk for the whole of the meal, can barely manage to swallow), and again briefly in the afternoon when Charles complains that the rocky terrain will make his horse throw a shoe if they keep riding. After that they walk the horses for a while, along the edge of a pretty sandstone bluff — and Kris is so busy admiring the beginnings of a brilliant sunset (wondering if the dragon's doing the same) and watching the first fingers of dusk stretch over the world, that he's surprised into almost toppling over the edge when Sir David bumps him. Only his grip on Zorro's reins saves him.

Cale shouts a terse warning to _pay attention_ , shattering Kris's reverie, and that's the end of Kris staring at the sky. He watches his feet, instead, and doesn't speak again, not even when they settle for the night in a little valley at the base of the foothills, less than a day's ride from the castle.

Kris is more tired than he remembers being since he met the dragon, and he knows it's because of how he's now used to all the naps it insisted upon.

He crawls into his bedroll, certain that for the first time in a long time he won't be visited by any black-haired men in his dreams, and his last thought as he closes his eyes and drifts off is that the dragon would have plucked him back from the edge of the bluff with one claw, and maybe even spouted some ridiculousness about how adorable it was that Kris almost died over a sunset.

—

Kris does dream of Adam again, but this time, the black-haired man isn't actually _there_. Kris can hear him, though, calling Kris's name over and over from far away, voice urgent. They're not in the bed, or the dragon's cave, or anywhere familiar.

Kris is on the side of the mountain — or he thinks he is; it's rocky around him — surrounded by fog. He's cold and alone and he would really rather be with Adam, who sounds so anxious, but Kris can't find him. He's trying, he's looking, but he can't _find_ the man.

"I'm here!" he calls as loudly as he can. "Hey! Adam, I'm right _here_!"

He shouts and shouts, until he's hoarse and his throat feels scratchy and rough, but Adam doesn't find him and doesn't answer, just keeps shouting Kris's name.

Kris goes back to looking for him, climbing over rocks and stumbling over everything because the fog is dense and thick like soup. Kris can barely see his own feet, much less the terrain.

He couldn't track a _fire_ in these conditions, let alone a dream-man.

"I'm _right here_ ," he says again, barely a whisper. He has no expectation that it will work. "Please, I'm right here, Adam, where are you, what do you _want_?"

Suddenly, Adam is directly in front of Kris. This time he's fully clothed, and there's a desperate, impatient look on his face. "Wake up!" he orders. "Wake _up_ , you ridiculous human!"

Big hands land on Kris's shoulders and shake him sharply. "For heaven's sake, wake up!"

—

Kris wakes with a jolt. His eyes snap open.

Crouched at his side, raised arm holding an unsheathed dagger poised to strike at Kris, is the lead knight of the party King Simon sent after Kris.

When he sees that Kris is awake Sir David's eyes widen and he freezes.

"Uh," says Kris. "Wha— _What_ are you doing?!"

Sir David stares at him for several more moments. Then he drops the dagger and tries to scramble back, but it's too late; Kris's voice has woken Cale and Sir Tommy, and they're both shouting and storming over, and that's _more_ than enough noise to rouse the rest of the knights. Cale grabs Sir David, yanking him away angrily, while Sir Tommy gets a hand on Kris's arm and pulls him to his feet before stepping protectively in front of him.

"What's with the yelling?" asks Charles, "What's going on?"

Still pale, Sir David says nothing. His eyes, huge and scared, are on Kris.

"Sir David was kneeling next to Kris, with _that_ —" Sir Tommy gestures disdainfully at the dagger on the ground, "— clearly about to _stab him with it_."

"You mean—" Sir Michael knuckles his eyes roughly, stifling a yawn and frowning. "He was trying to _kill_ the squire?"

"Murder," says Cale, his voice terse as he glares at the man in his grip. "In his _sleep_."

The knights take a moment to absorb this, glancing between Sir David, the dagger next to Kris's bedroll, and Kris himself. Given that Cale and Sir Tommy both have eyes and can be trusted not to lie about something like this, the evidence is fairly damning.

"Lucky you woke up, then," Sir Andrew finally ventures.

"Luck has remarkably little to do with it," says an entirely new voice (one with which Kris is _intimately_ familiar), as someone comes striding into the circle of their camp's firelight.

It's Adam. It's the black-haired _man from Kris's dreams_.

Most of the knights move to draw their weapons.

Kris gapes.

His face feels hot and his head is spinning, just a little bit; not even almost getting stabbed to death made him feel like this. "You actually _are_ real."

"Of course I am," says the black-haired man, giving Kris one of those weighty, affectionate looks that he does so well and which always, always make Kris squirmy, dopey with desire, and just generally brain dead.

The knights pause, blades half-out of sheaths and bows half raised.

"Friend of yours, Kris?" asks Anoop.

"I— He's—" Kris clears his throat, trying to remember to breathe under the weight of Adam's gaze. "Yes. Definitely."

Adam smiles at him, fleetingly.

The knights eye him skeptically, but Kris is smiling in welcome (and he did just have his life threatened by one of their own) so they don't seem inclined to take issue with it.

"What are you doing here?" Sir Tommy does say, cautiously.

Adam directs a pointed look at Kris. "Keeping an eye on some things relevant to my interests," he answers, maddeningly vague.

"Which means what, exactly?" asks Sir Anoop.

Adam doesn't reply. Instead, he turns and regards Sir David seriously for a few moments, then scowls and steps closer to the knight. "Tell me why you want to kill Kris," he says, "and I'll consider not dragging you up the mountain back to the dragon. Do you think he'd appreciate what you were trying to do to his Kris?"

"Why would it care?" says Sir David, trying to bluster. Kris is pretty sure that none of them — not Cale, Andrew, Anoop, Michael, Tommy or Charles, not _any_ of them — believe his bravado. "What does a _squire_ matter to it?"

Adam raises his eyebrows and looks at Sir David as if he thinks Sir David is as stupid as those floppy-eared rabbits that always walked right into Kris's traps no matter _how_ obvious he made them.

Kris bites his lip and makes himself stay silent.

Dropping his eyes, Sir David deflates.

"I didn't want to," he says to the tops of his boots.

"You were _going_ to, though," says Sir Tommy, glaring; he's very good at glaring. He edges even closer to Kris, keeping his sword out.

"Yeah," Cale says, as he edges closer too and Sir Tommy makes room so Cale can join him in standing protectively in front of Kris (even though Sir David isn't even _armed_ anymore, geeze. Kris isn't _helpless_ , okay). "I don't really care if you _wanted_ to."

Sir David flushes slightly.

"Why did you do it?" asks Adam, staring intently at Sir David. He seems remarkably calm and unruffled for a weaponless man in the middle of a half-dozen knights all kitted out in armor and bristling with weapons. "What would induce you to kill a comrade-in-arms when you are so _clearly_ against the idea?"

"I…" Sir David trails off. He bows his head even further and takes a deep breath.

"I haven't got all night," presses the black-haired man. "Well, I do, but I'd rather not _waste_ it on _this_."

"My squire," blurts Sir David. He looks up and meets the black-haired man's gaze again, his eyes shiny. "King Simon threatened to give him to Pirate Gokey, to sell into slavery, if I didn't."

The other knights blanch collectively. Kris does too, but somehow… he doesn't actually feel _surprised_.

"That's vile," says Charles, quietly. "But I don't… why would the King want Kris dead?"

"I don't know. He didn't say." Sir David shrugs, looking lost. He turns to Kris and appeals, "But— _please_ , you know my squire, he's just a boy, really — slavery would destroy him, I _had_ to—"

"Yes, yes, _enough_ ," Adam says abruptly, waving a dismissive hand through the air. "We understand. Stop blathering, I'm trying to think."

Sir David's mouth snaps closed.

Adam tilts his head and says, "This is _interesting_. I think I shall accompany you to the castle and investigate."

"You don't need—" Kris starts, but Adam gives him a flat, level look, and Kris shuts up.

"Right, then," says Cale, after a moment, apparently stepping in as leader of the group since Sir David attempted Kris-icide. "So. That's… dealt with." He looks around. "We should probably get some sleep."

"I'll keep watch," volunteers Charles, with a narrow-eyed glance at Sir David. "You stay where I can see you."

Sir David shrugs despondently.

Charles moves to the edge of the camp and the other knights head to their bedrolls, but Adam grabs Kris and drags him back into the night.

—

Adam pulls Kris out of the circle of firelight, away from the others, with one big hand on the back of Kris's neck.

Kris doesn't mind, because _he's_ got a hand on Adam's back and he doesn't plan on moving it any time soon.

"I'm not dreaming," he says dazedly. "You're here and I'm not dreaming."

"Did you think you were getting away from me, baby?" asks Adam, pulling him behind a boulder and pushing him up against it. He leans down enough to suck the lobe of Kris's ear into his mouth.

"Uh," says Kris. "No?"

"You won't ever," Adam promises, breath hot over Kris's ear, lips brushing the shell. "Your dragon can't go far from his treasure, without losing it all. _You_ can't go far enough to be rid of _me_." He drops his mouth and latches possessively onto Kris's neck.

Kris gasps, heat washing over him in a rush that tingles all the way to his _toes_ , and he arches into the contact, throwing his head back and pushing his neck against Adam's mouth. His skull cracks a little against the boulder behind him, a sudden flash of pain, but it's dull and unimportant compared to Adam's lips against his skin, finally, for real — and Adam standing real and solid before him, rocking back as Kris thrusts eagerly against his thigh.

Adam gets a hand between them and tugs Kris's leggings down, the material scratching roughly on Kris's skin, but it bares Kris's hips, freeing his erection for Adam to wrap his fingers around and start to stroke.

It's not the same as in the dreams, where there's always the perfect amount of slickness to ease the way; it's too dry, drags a little too much, the slight burn of too much friction making Kris hiss.

"Me," Adam says, licking around Kris's ear. "Come on, me, Kris, me too."

"You…"

"My breeches," pleads Adam. "Open them, get me— Kris, your hand—"

Once Kris figures out what Adam's after, he hurries to comply. He has to shift to get any angle that doesn't get in Adam's way, rising up onto the balls of his feet and holding his arm awkwardly, but it's worth it to have Adam's cock in his hand for real, feeling the heat of him, the way their fingers bump together every time their rhythms don't match. Their hands are too dry, their mouths too wet where they're pressed together unevenly.

Kris doesn't care.

He can taste every one of Adam's panting breaths, can feel every shift of his body against Kris, and he knows it's _real_ , actually, truly real.

Kris comes embarrassingly quickly, dropping his head to muffle the noise he makes in Adam's shoulder.

He can't help grinning, as Adam lets go of his cock, braces both hands on the boulder next to Kris's head and jerks his hips faster, fucking into the circle of Kris's fist.

The whole thing is too deliciously perfect to be a dream.

—

When Kris can walk again, Adam pulls him back to the camp. Kris ignores the speculative looks he's getting from the still-awake knights in favor of collapsing back down onto his bedroll. Adam follows him down, curling around Kris's back and draping an arm over his waist.

The bedroll isn't as soft as the — _his,_ damn it — bed in the dragon's cave and there's a root or a stone or something digging into his ribs, but the fire is warm against his front and Adam is warmer against his back, and Adam is _real_ and _there_. Kris isn't about to complain.

—

Kris dreams of being back in the dragon's cave, in that feather bed with Adam, but for the first time ever, all they use it for is to sleep. (Dreaming about sleeping ought to be boring, but it's not. It's fantastic. It's really, really fantastic.)

—

In the morning, the knights pack up without speaking more than absolutely necessary, and though they don't try to tie Sir David up, they do keep sending him suspicious looks and all of his weapons have been confiscated by Cale.

Kris, packing up his own kit while Adam watches and is generally unhelpful (he keeps _poking_ at things and Kris keeps having to slap his hands away), feels kind of sorry for him. It's obvious that Sir David was unhappy with his mission, and he seems pretty pleased that he doesn't have to go through with it anymore.

"Hey," Kris says abruptly, when Sir David gives him a wide berth while moving to saddle up his horse.

Sir David freezes. He eyes Kris cautiously. "Yes?"

"I just want you to know that it's fine," says Kris. "I get why you did it, and it's fine."

Sir David's jaw drops.

Kris tries offering him a friendly smile. "I hope you don't mind my saying it, but I'm glad you didn't succeed."

"I…" Sir David clears his throat. "I'm glad I didn't, too."

"There," says Kris, brightly. "Just, don't try it again, okay?"

Sir David shakes his head vehemently. "No. Never."

"All right, then. So, we're good. No hard feelings." Kris offers Sir David another smile, then turns his back to finish packing his things.

The other knights have all stopped what they were doing and are gaping at him.

Kris stops. "… What?"

The knights exchange glances that Kris can't read. After a moment, Cale sighs. "Nothing," he says, and the knights all turn away again.

Kris looks questioningly at Adam.

Adam is smirking.

"Uh. Adam?" says Kris.

"You," says Adam gleefully, "are my absolute _favorite_ thing _ever_."

—

Most of the knights clearly would rather not be present when Adam (and, of course, Kris) confront the king, so just outside the castle, Adam dismisses them, all but Sir David, to whom he gives a narrow look. Sir David doesn't move, even as the others cast final, apprehensive looks at Kris and make for the stables, taking Zorro and Sir David's horse as well.

"Come on, then," says Adam, catching Kris's wrist and leading them through the castle gates.

—

They're halfway through the courtyard when someone excitedly calls Sir David's name. A pair of young people cross to meet them, drawing to a stumbling halt directly in front of them while the young man repeats, "Cook! I didn't know you'd returned."

The girl with him — Allison, Kris realizes belatedly — huffs. "And look what the cat dragged in with him," she says, over the sound of Sir David returning his squire's greeting.

Kris flushes and bites his lip. He hadn't expected her to have suddenly forgiven him, but still, he doesn't think it was necessary to be actively _mean_ to him. Especially not in front of Adam. He chances a look to catch Adam's reaction.

Adam is staring at Allison with his eyes narrowed. She stares back uncertainly.

"This is _very_ interesting," he says, like he's talking to himself. He lifts a hand and waves it languidly at Allison, saying, "Let me _see_."

"See what?" demands Allison. "Dude, what's your prob—"

"Oh, _gosh_ ," blurts Sir David's squire, gaping and pointing at Allison.

Her face is shimmering like there's a hot candleflame in front of it, and on her forehead, down near the corner of her left eye, are three sparkling jewel-toned studs.

Kris stares, too. "What are _those_?"

"What are _what_?" asks Allison. "Why are you guys looking at me like that?"

"Spell stones," Adam explains, thoughtful; he leans in to get a better look. "From their colors, I'd say one of forgetting, one of displeasure, and one of coercion."

"Who would want to be-spell Allison?" asks Sir David's squire, looking faintly horrified. "That's… that's dreadful!"

"It probably has something to do with that quest you told me about, Kris," Adam backs away from Allison to whisper in Kris's ear, which is a bit odd because Kris doesn't remember doing that at all.

"I haven't been be-spelled," Allison protests, putting her hands on her hips. "I'm _fine_. Stop looking at me like there's something on my face."

"There _is_ something on your face," Sir David points out.

"Adam?" Kris says, shaking away thoughts of what he has or hasn't told Adam but Adam knows anyway.

The corner of Adam's mouth quirks up. "Yes, Kristopher?"

"Fix her, please," says Kris.

"As you wish." Adam smiles. He lifts a hand and, before Allison can protest, touches one shiny blue-nailed fingertip to each stone in turn.

"Dude," says Allison, reaching up to bat Adam's hand away even as he's withdrawing it on his own. "Hands off."

" _Enough_ ," hisses Adam.

"I'll _enough_ yo—" Allison starts to protest, but she breaks off abruptly, her face scrunching up uncomfortably.

The shimmer in front of her face intensifies. Her eyes squeeze closed and her mouth falls open in a gasp. A moment later, her eyelids snap up and she gives her head a minute shake like she's just waking up from something.

All three spell stones drop away, dissolving as they leave her skin, and a rain of pink, red and purple glitter falls from her hair.

"Wha— What?" she says, her voice weak and thready. She stumbles a half a step backward; Kris moves to catch her, but Sir David and his squire get there before him, supporting her under an arm each.

Allison aims slightly unfocused eyes at Adam and Kris. "I don't… Kris?"

"I'm right here, Alli," he says, touching her shoulder reassuringly. "Are you okay?"

Allison blinks and bites her lip. She leans her head a little toward him. "Kris, I— I think I did a not so good thing. I, uh. Did I run away with Danny— I mean, Gok— The pirate?"

"You did," says Sir David's squire.

Allison turns a horrified red. She looks like she's going to cry.

"But Kris got you back!" the boy hurries to add.

"… did I say thank you?" she asks, after a moment.

"Uh, no," Kris says, rubbing the back of his neck. "You called me a thief and told me to mind my own business. And said you'd never forgive me."

"I'm sorry." Allison closes her eyes and tears spill out from between her lashes. One of them runs through a patch of glitter high on her cheek that seems to be part of what had fallen from her hair after Adam's magic. "I'm an idiot."

"You were under three _very_ strong spells," Adam interrupts, surprising Kris with his gentleness. "I suspect you were instructed to hate him, and to be as uncooperative as you possibly could." He touches his fingertip to her face again, dragging it through that patch of glitter and then spreading it over her eyelid. "It's quite remarkable that you managed to come back with Kris at all, given that."

Allison opens her eyes and squints up at him wetly. "Who _are_ you?"

"Adam," he says. He smiles. "I'm with Kris."

"And… Kris told you?" she hiccups around a sob. "About… the pirates?"

Adam swipes up more glitter and covers her other eyelid, so they match. "Kris," he answers, smiling, "has told me more than he thinks he has."

Sir David and his squire throw wary glances at Kris, who frowns and rubs his suddenly sweaty palms on his leggings. Allison keeps gazing up at Adam.

"… You put glitter on my eyelids," she says, after a moment. "And you got Kris to talk about himself?"

Adam nods. "I did."

Allison gives him a watery smile. "I hope he keeps you."

Kris sputters.

"I appreciate having your blessing," says Adam solemnly.

"Right, I think it's time Lady Allison went inside," says Kris quickly, his face red. "Sir David, if you and your squire wouldn't mind…?"

"We've got this," Sir David says confidently. His lips are twitching a little. "You and… Adam… can go ahead."

"Thank you." Kris reaches out swiftly and squeezes Allison's hand, before Sir David and his squire get her turned around and headed back toward her chambers. "I'll talk to you later, Alli."

"‘Kay, Kris."

"You and your squire should think about switching vocations," Adam suggests, abruptly, to Sir David's back. "I hear there's great demand for minstrels these days."

The trio pause, and Sir David looks over his shoulder at Kris and Adam. "And you're sure we'll be safe, that way?"

"I am _very_ sure," replies Adam, with a tiny nod.

"All right, then," says Sir David. He settles his hands more comfortably on Allison's arm. "Off we go, then, Lady Allison. Come along, Archie."

The three disappear through one of the side archways a little further up the courtyard.

Kris glances at Adam.

The expression on Adam's face is one of almost feral anticipation.

"All right, Kris. Take me to your King."

—

Kris takes Adam to the throne room, because they've somehow managed to arrive at the castle just at the time when King Simon usually holds audience, and honestly, it does seem like the simplest way to get Adam in to see him. Kris is not sure how he would have done it, otherwise.

There are many people in the throne room, as there usually are, a mix of knights and courtiers and peasants come to see the king about… whatever it is about which one comes to see the king, Kris has no idea.

Hardly anyone notices them, at first. But then Adam steps into the center of the room and clears his throat — just softly, really, Kris can barely hear it and he's right next to Adam — and then suddenly it's like _everyone_ notices them, all at once.

Up by the throne, something clatters, and when Kris looks over he's startled to see that the king's steward has dropped the goblet of wine he always holds for the king, dropped it right on the floor, spilling wine everywhere, and he is _gaping_ at Kris like maybe he's seen a ghost.

King Simon doesn't yell at Ryan the way Kris expects him to, though, because he's not looking at Ryan, too busy staring, himself.

Not at Kris, though.

His eyes on are Adam, like he's transfixed, and he's gone pale. " _You_ ," he blurts.

"What?" say Kris, startled, looking between Adam and King Simon. "Do you know him, Adam?"

"No, I don't." Adam cocks his head. "But he does _know_."

King Simon glares at him.

"Know what?" Kris asks. He gets ignored.

"How can you know?" says Adam, curiously. He takes a step closer to King Simon. "Not even Kris has worked out— _Oh_."

Kris frowns at him. "‘Oh,' what?"

Adam is _still_ looking at King Simon. " _You're a dragon._ "

It's as if the entire room draws in a sharp breath and goes still.

King Simon starts to smile. There is no mirth in it, and it is _not_ a pleasant smile; he's still white as a sheet and glaring at Adam. "Clever. That's very good, Elder."

Adam has narrowed his eyes at King Simon. "You sent Kris to kill me. Why?"

"Ah, yes, the Quest of Squire Kristopher." King Simon laughs. It's even less pleasant than his smile. "Agh, that _man_. That tiny, clueless man — he is so _infuriatingly_ hard to kill. And he couldn't even seem to fail respectably enough that I could send him off somewhere far away from me and everyone else. What was I to do? Couldn't kill him, couldn't banish him— But I had a dragon handy. And ‘kill the dragon' makes an excellent, hopeless quest."

Adam's face hardens. "He _could_ always have succeeded, you know," he says.

"In which case, he'd have been knighted and sent away, and at least I wouldn't have to worry about _you_ anymore," says King Simon sharply. He makes a sharp, jerky motion with one hand, gesturing more or less in the direction of Kris's dragon's liar. "Always with one eye on that stupid mountain, in case you ever decided to leave your hermit's cave and came down and found me living in your kingdom. Just _existing_ , you're almost as annoying as Squire Kristopher is."

"Thank you for the compliment," snaps Adam.

"Hah. I _hate_ Squire Kristopher. I should just have eaten him," says King Simon, his face and voice vicious, "but that _taste_."

"Eaten? Taste?" says someone behind Kris, in a poorly covered, horrified whisper. It sounds like it might be Ryan the steward, having moved away from the throne toward the doors. " _What_ taste?"

"Squire Kristopher tastes like destiny," snaps King Simon.

Which would be totally confusing, except Kris kind of got used to his dragon talking about how things _tasted_ of strange things that weren't _flavors_ (everything was always ‘boring' or ‘interesting' or ‘lying'), like it could actually tell that kind of stuff.

"I know," says Adam, which, okay, what? "Isn't it delicious?"

"Destiny, and _death_ ," King Simon says more forcefully, his face twisting up angrily.

Adam looks back and forth between Kris and the king, his eyebrows raised. "Death?" he repeats slowly.

"Death?" Kris repeats incredulously. "Why would I taste like death? I can't even kill a rabbit for supper, except by accident and even then I always feel guilty."

"The air reeks of death whenever you're near me," says King Simon, glaring at Kris. "You may not kill me yourself, but it's obvious to a fool that you're to be my downfall."

"Kingy, kingy, _kingy_ ," mocks someone from the very back of the throne room. "That's not fair to us fools."

" _Oh_." Adam's gasp draws everyone's attention back to him. He's starting to smile. It looks more like a snarl, to be honest; there are a lot of teeth. "I see, now. You're one of _those_."

"What?" blurts Kris.

Adam turns to Kris and bends his head as if preparing to tell a secret. He wiggles his fingers in the direction of King Simon. "He's fulfilling his own prophecy of doom, and he doesn't even realize it. Foolish."

"But it hasn't been fulfilled," King Simon says, and for the first time in his life Kris understands the saying ‘spitting mad.' "I'm still here! Not dead, not gone, _still king_!"

Adam tosses back his head and laughs the dragon's full, clear, beautiful laugh, like music rolling through the throne room.

" _Simon_ ," he croons, still wearing his sharp, toothy smile. "Do you really think I'd leave you be, after you tried to destroy what's mine?"

Simon freezes, frowning. His eyes, fixed on Adam, slowly widen. "No…"

" _The law of the hoard_ ," says Adam, and the words are heavy, curling around Kris's awareness and holding fast. "You tried to _steal_ from me, _dragon_. You know what that means."

King Simon draws a breath in a startled hiss. "No!"

Adam's eyes flash, as he intones, " _Take my treasure and you will touch no more._ "

Even Kris recognizes it as some kind of magic, this time.

Simon goes terrifyingly white. "No," he repeats, absolutely terrified — then he bursts into blue flame that burns down to a pile of blue glitter, rather than ash.

—

"All right," says Adam, his voice rising above those of all the shrieking, confused courtiers, "That's _enough_ , what are you trying to do, shrivel my ears?"

The noise lessens.

Fractionally.

"I said," Adam insists, " _be_ _quiet_."

The room suddenly goes silent.

"Right, thank you. Now, everybody," says Adam, glancing around and smiling sharply at the crowd, " _out_."

It's not particularly surprising when, almost as one, King Simon's court turns and practically flees.

—

Staring at Adam, standing casually in the empty throne room like he disintegrates kings all the time, Kris bites his lip. He's pretty sure he knows what just happened, but there is one thing he needs confirmed, because the better part of a week's suspicions just aren't _enough_ for something like this. And since they got everyone else to leave the room already anyway…

"Um, so." Kris clears his throat. "Does this mean… that you really are the dragon? _My_ dragon?"

"Yes," says Adam. "I am. _Completely_."

Kris doesn't know why he's surprised. He probably should have worked this out ages ago, instead of just vaguely suspecting in a completely idle way that had less to do with ‘oh, wouldn't that make sense?' and more to do with ‘it would be really fantastic if this were true.'

Also, Kris is blushing. He can feel it. For once, he doesn't care. "And those… dreams I had?"

Adam smiles, flashing many sharp white teeth. "That was me, too, yes."

"But why did you—"

"Because I wanted you," says Adam.

"Right," says Kris. He gapes a bit. "… I was supposed to kill you, you know. Well, I was supposed to kill the dragon. You. The dragon-you."

"I know." Adam is still smiling. "But you couldn't. You totally didn't even _try_."

"You're not, uh, mad, or anything, are you?"

"Mad?" Adam blinks. "Of course I'm not mad. That's charming."

"Uh," says Kris, and blushes even more deeply.

Somewhere close by, someone coos, " _Aww_. Aren't you two precious?"

Kris looks around.

The speaker is the jester — at least, Kris hopes the man is the jester, given that he's wearing an alarmingly bright purple tunic and shiny silver tights — who has just emerged from somewhere behind the throne.

Cocking his head, Adam narrows his eyes at the jester. "… Bells?" he asks, sounding surprised. "Is that you?"

"They call me Cheeks, now," says the jester, with a little wave and a smirk. "Hi, Adam."

"I'm guessing you _do_ actually know _him_ ," Kris says to Adam, still feeling rather shell-shocked by the jester's attire.

"I do. Very well, actually. Or rather, I did, some time ago," answers Adam, before turning and raising his eyebrow at the tiny jester. "What are you doing here?"

"Being the court jester, obviously." The jester hops up onto one of the throne's armrests irreverently and crosses his legs. "It's quite fun, in fact."

Adam sighs. "Yes, but _why_?"

"The position was open, and they were willing to let me wear whatever I wanted. No matter how bright the color." The jester raises an eyebrow. "Besides, an elf has to go somewhere when he gets kicked out of his clan for sleeping with dragons."

"They kicked you out?" says Adam, sounding surprised but not very interested.

"You _slept with him_?" says Kris, much more interested. His voice might even be a little sharp.

"Oh, don't worry, squire," the jester says, giving him what is probably meant to be a reassuring smile. "I absolutely do not want your dragon anymore."

Adam scoffs. He turns to Kris. "This is Bradley, of the Elf Clan Bell," he says. "You can call him Brad. He's mostly harmless, and most definitely not any reason for you to feel jealous."

"I'm not jealous," Kris lies.

"God, you're adorable even when you're defensive and dishonest," says Adam. Well, he croons it, more like. "How did I ever live before I met you?"

"With feathers, of course," pipes up Brad. He giggles.

"I do like feathers," Adam admits.

"And leather surcoats," Kris adds, because it's true. Adam has an impressive number of leather surcoats. "And boots."

Adam grins. "You know me so well," he says, little more than a heavy whisper.

Kris stares at him, thinking of the things he knows about Adam. The way his skin tastes, how he sounds when he comes, the way he feels spread above Kris and holding him down, the warmth of his skin at Kris's front compared to cold stone at his back. Kris bites his lip, blushing.

Adam's eyes narrow.

"Oh, that's _yummy_ ," breathes Brad, watching them. Adam swings quickly around to glare at him, and he raises both hands in supplication. "I was only pointing it out. I swear, I have no intentions. Don't mind me."

"Wha— Er, what now?" says Kris, drawing Adam's attention back to him, where it _belongs_.

"Now?" says Adam.

Kris nods.

Adam smirks. "Now I think I'll make you king."

"Uh." Kris opens and closes his mouth several times, stunned. "How would you do that? _Why_ would you do that?"

"Because I want to and I can," says Adam, logically.

Kris blinks.

"Besides." Adam flashes him a smile. "The people need a king, what with their old one being a thieving dragon who is now deceased, and it just so happens that _you_ are going to need something to do with the next few hundred years."

"Few _what_?"

Adam doesn't appear to be listening to Kris anymore. He's grabbing Kris and gently tugging him forward. "Here, it'll be easy, just come sit on this garish, hideous monster of a throne — Bells, you can be my steward. Remind me later I want to replace this with something not covered in icky Simon's hoard; I'm thinking something pretty, maybe in oak."

"New throne; pretty; oak. Noted," says Brad, grinning like a cat who's just come back to life for the tenth time. "Any other specifications?"

"Kris-sized, of course," says Adam. Smiling brilliantly, he turns back to Kris, guiding him to sit down in the throne, his hands warm on Kris's shoulders. "There. Perfect. You just sit there and be cute, my totally unboring squire, and I'll take care of everything else."

"I don't think that's quite how this is supposed to work," Kris tries to point out. "Why don't _you_ just be king?"

"That'd be boring. Besides, I'm not supposed to be." Adam strokes Kris's cheek with the back of his hand. "Don't worry. You'll make an excellent king, I promise, and no-one ever expects kings to go off and fetch lutes or kill unicorns or rescue be-spelled ladies or kill dragons. You'll enjoy it so much more than being a squire, Kris."

"But I can't be king." Kris stares at him, uncertain. "I never even managed to get knighted, Adam."

"Clearly, that was because you were meant for bigger, better, more fun things." Adam smiles. "Like being my king."

"Oh," says Kris, feeling his eyes go a little wider and his cheeks go a little pinker.

Adam's king. That's… he can do that. He'd much rather be Adam's king than the kingdom's king.

Adam seems to know what Kris is thinking, because he smiles. "Would you like to be mine, Kristopher?"

" _Yes_."

"Good," says Adam, laughing his crazy beautiful laugh.

Kris licks his lips and hopes he doesn't look as stupidly, desperately fond as he feels.

Adam produces a ring from one of his pockets. It doesn't look like any of the rest of his jewelry; it's curving, twisting ropes of black metal knotted into a thick band, streaks of silver running through it, into which is set a single brilliant stone the color of the dragon's eyes. It almost looks like it's actually a piece of the dragon.

Brad gapes when he sees it.

"Here," Adam says, offering the ring to Kris. "You should wear this. Just so we don't have to go around explaining to everyone."

"Why?" Eying it cautiously, Kris takes it. "Where'd you get this? What is it?"

"Another part of my hoard," Adam says dismissively. "Go on, put it on."

Kris puts it on.

The moment he does, a warm wave of blue light washes over Kris's skin. It tickles.

"Um, what was that?" he asks, staring at his hand, where the ring is resting innocently on his finger. He doesn't know why, but he feels like… like maybe he won't ever be able to take it off. Not that he can imagine _wanting_ to, but that's totally not the point.

Adam doesn't seem to be listening. "There!" he says happily. "Now we're officially bound to each other."

Kris stares. "… what?"

"And you're officially king!" Adam goes on, looking pleased with himself. "I mean, of course at some point we'll need a coronation and a wedding, but Bells can take care of that later."

"I absolutely can," agrees Brad. "Can there be glitter?"

"I don't—" Kris begins, but breaks off as Adam starts to shimmer.

A moment later, the black-haired man is gone, and in his place is Kris's dragon, same huge familiar mass of black scales with the wings of blue and silver and turquoise and green. Kris hadn't planned to admit how much he missed the dragon, but the rush of warm recognition and awe that sweeps over him brings a huge grin to his face. "Adam," he says, doing an absolutely terribly job of concealing his reaction.

Adam curls himself around the back of Simo— of _Kris's_ throne. The end of his tail wraps around Kris's left ankle; on Kris's other side, Adam folds his forelegs on the floor and rests his great, horned head on them. The tip of one wing brushes Kris's cheek, his neck, his shoulder.

Kris beams so hard, his face hurts.

"This," says Adam, "is going to be _fun_."

—|—

No-one alive today anywhere in his kingdom remembers the beginning of the reign of King Kristopher (the Benevolent, the Strong, the Just, the Magnificent, the Adorable, etc.), or a time when he was not their sovereign. He sits upon the throne, perpetually in his prime, and a dragon sleeps beside him.

A dragon's treasure survives to a dragon's death — and a dragon lives a very long time.

_For he is King, and his dragon the Elder._

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://kradamadness.dreamwidth.org/36671.html?thread=3890495#cmt3890495) at kradamadness. Can also be read [here](http://kradamadness.dreamwidth.org/52008.html) on DW. Also, [the awesome header art is by birddi](http://kradamadness.dreamwidth.org/43100.html?thread=5087836#cmt5087836) (an unexpected gift!) and everyone should go say how awesome it is. :-D
> 
> Also, I'm [on tumblr](http://fictionalcandie.tumblr.com) now!


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